#A funeral of sorts for all of them and their bond

[fragmentedblade]

They did the narrative threading thing again with going from the Artisanship Commission to the Alchemy Commission. They talk about new lives under new names in old flesh in the Artisanship Commission, and she mentions immediately later the Alchemy Commission, where Bailu is. What a nice lapse

[molagboop]

Mawkin children undergo several maturity rites before they're granted full tribal citizenship. The first occurs around eight years old, involving a basic academic evaluation and the child's choice between a physical fitness test or a dream-walk.

The evals are simple: how much has the child learned, what do they know, where can we supplement their education, etc. How can we stimulate their curiosity and foster a lifelong love of learning? Have they displayed any skills or passion for any particular subject? How can we encourage their hobbies and interests? Those are the kinds of questions the adults involved in carrying out the evaluation are asking themselves.

The evaluations help parents figure out (or reaffirm what they already know) ways to engage their childrens' interests in a fun or productive way, and how to help their child along the path to success, academic or otherwise. Every child is different: they have their own needs, and while 8 years old isn't old enough for anyone to ascertain exactly what they wanna be when they grow up, the evaluation is a good starting point for the rest of their academic track until their next formative rites.

The next part of the rites is a branching path. The fitness test is typically favored by more outdoorsy or athletic types, as well as children who are afraid of specters or arent very interested in the old ways. That's fine: old people stuff can be boring! The priests go on and on about the ancestors during holidays, but you're eight years-old and you've never seen the ancestors show up before, so big whoop. You've got toys to play and things to learn.

Another general assumption is that children who are likely to grow into steadfast warriors or athletes may pick the fitness test enthusiastically and without thinking about it, but again, this is an evaluation, and the kids are like, eight. Nothing is set in stone. Eight year olds also typically love playing outside.

A number of kids, hearing about all the cool things their elders know and are capable of, or just being curious about what their ancestors might have to teach them, opt for the dream-walk.

The dream-walk involves exposure to psychoactive fumes, but is nonetheless completely safe: the kid is monitored and made as comfortable as possible.

The dream-walk is overseen by priests and doctors. The burners are lit and the trial-goer falls asleep, entering a state similar to lucid dreaming.

Everyone's experience is different. Some kids have profound surreal experiences: others spend the entire time sitting at a table with a long-dead ancestor having a meal. Some kids are shown events from the past by an old ghost: some even experience said event from the perspective of someone who was there when it happened.

For others, the dream is of an old-fashioned hunt, typically guided by a departed grandparent or neighbor. It's not unusual for Mawkin kids to have experienced the act of hunting for food or sport by this point in their lives: many who hunt take their babies out with them on their backs. The quarry during the dream-walk, however, is typically more than your mundane game beast.

Tribal scholars and doctors of psychology have posited that the dream walk largely reflects the experiences of those involved. Formative memories and strong feelings, they believe, greatly affect the appearance of conjured apparitions in the dream. If a kid is fighting any demons at eight years old or harbor any powerful fears, they may very well be forced to face them head-on during this trial.

Therein lies the value of the dream-walk: it's not just a curiosity to get the kids to engage with cultural practices of yore, it has utility in teaching children valuable lessons through experience without actually making them fight the six-eyed serpent of a hundred and seventeen mouths. And they're usually not facing it alone: the ancestors quite literally walk with plenty of kids during these trials.

There are some truths a given child must face alone, and plenty do. But when they wake, they will find themselves among familiar company, the sweet smell of wood smoke permeating the air and a feast awaiting back home to celebrate their first milestone towards becoming an adult.

Some kids don't fight any major bosses or experience the heat death of the universe through the eyes of a slug, instead deriving value from the dream-walk in the form of sensory-guided introspection. The lesson they learn may not even be apparent to them until six years down the line. It doesn't have to be deep: it can just be an experience that gives then a new perspective on the world.

The senses are heightened supremely during the dream-walk, allowing the dreamer to experience the world in a whole new way. Tasting color, feeling the vibration of every sound beneath one's skin, perceiving the shape of every smell. Even if the kid walks away thinking "huh, I've never experienced the world that way before", the trial will have been a success. In the very least, a child should come out of that dark room with a unique memory for them to examine later on.

Several minor rituals and evaluations occur around twelve and fifteen years, but the foremost citizenship rites occur around seventeen, when an individual's stomach is strong enough to handle sap wine in greater quantities without suffering catastrophic liver failure. The dream-walk is a requirement this time around, as well as a combat test. The combat test is the actual rite that determines one's status as an adult: the mandatory dream-walk occurs beforehand as a way to shed all doubts about the strength of one's resolve if they have any insecurities, and perhaps gain some personal insight in the process. Introspection assisted by psychoactive substances.

You may be wondering how those with varying degrees of disability come of age if they can't engage in the rite of combat. There are alternatives to the combat test if the participant doesn't feel able enough to fight, or otherwise can't exert themselves without experiencing undue pain and discomfort.

There are alternative rites for individuals of every combination of physical and cognitive impairment, and all are treated with the same gravity and dignity afforded to the typical rites. Poetry recitals, music, research projects, an oath of maturity: these are a few examples of things disabled Mawkin have done to establish their claim to adulthood in place of the rite of combat. An individual doesn't have to be "good" at something: they just have to show that they accept the responsibility that comes with being an adult, or are otherwise committed to their community and the tribe at large.

For some people, that commitment comes in the form of thriving to the best of their ability. Surviving to the next day, striving for tomorrow to hurt a little less than yesterday. It doesn't matter whether they can "contribute" or be a "productive member of society": all are one, and one serves all. The Mawkin take community very seriously. There's an age-old adage that says something to the effect of "if one is suffering, all are injured", and "when one is deprived of dignity, we are all cast naked face-down into the mud".

Anyways, that's how juvenile Mawkin are granted all the rights, responsibilities and privileges that come saddled with being an adult. It's worth noting that most of these rites line up with a typical Chozo's molting cycle, with the final rites occurring just as young warriors are shaking off the last loose feathers of their old coat and displaying their first (clear) adult patterns.

[theminecraftbee]

Joel sits awkwardly at a family dinner table that isn’t for him.

It’s nice and all, he reckons, for Impulse’s family to invite him over after he leaves the hospital. Even before—everything—Joel’s family hadn’t really been the “big meal around a big table” type, so he’s getting some new experiences here too. And it’s nice and all, that they want to thank him for his role in finding Skizz.

But like. It’s not like he or Impulse or Skizz could explain how it happened, when asked. “Magic brain ghosts” and “evil butterflies” and “Joel still isn’t certain all of that was real and is trying to pretend it wasn’t” puts a damper on that. Also, adults are kind of shit at talking around the fact Joel’s whole family is dead, so he gets the sense he’s sort of harshing the vibes, you know?

Still. It’s a nice gesture. He guesses. It’s free food at least, which is decent, and as close as Impulse and Skizz are, every time one of Impulse’s family says something stupid, Skizz taps Joel’s leg with his foot or steals a roll or something, and it makes Joel feel…

He’d have been sad if Skizz had died, probably. Like, he wouldn’t know. He didn’t come here to make friends, he came here to get a degree and get out. Also, that’s stupid, because it’s not like Joel would have known he was missing a really awkward congratulatory family dinner in which Skizz kept on trying to sneakily steal beans. Probably would have just moved right on. He’s not… friendly.

But.

They stand outside afterwards, waving by to Impulse, promising to walk together so that neither of them Vanish. They’re quiet.

“Thanks, man. That meant a lot to them,” Skizz says.

“Yeah, well, I can do stupid things for free food,” Joel says.

Skizz laughs. “It was nice having you there, too. Man, they’re even worse with you! It’s like not knowing you means they’re even more awkward about family tragedy.”

“Trust me, most adults are way worse. You should see my social worker,” Joel says.

“Didn’t he ditch you, dude?”

“Haha, yeah, he did,” Joel says.

They stare up at the streetlamps together.

“I was really ready to go for a bit there,” Skizz says. Joel’s hackles raise. Oh no. Emotions. Bad. Go away. “It was like—man, it felt like the whole world was empty. But when you showed up, it’s like I remembered… I’d miss dinners, dude.”

“I have no idea why, that kinda sucked,” Joel says, baffled and sarcastic, because he’s a moron who can’t handle emotional conversations, this is why everyone avoided him at the funeral, stupid.

Skizz breaks out laughing.

“You’re great, man! I’m glad we met. Uh, my place is only a block away, and I won’t go following any stupid butterflies. See you at school?”

“Yeah man. See you,” Joel says—

I am thou.

Thou art I.

Thou hath formed a new bond.

With the power of the Chariot Arcana, you shall build the chains with which to hold on to reality.

RANK 1!

“What the hell?” Joel says, tripping over his feet. “What? What? Where did—what the fuck that wasn’t Pygmalion oh god do I have more than one voice in my head—”

“Dude, are you okay?”

Skizz’s almost frustratingly strong and comforting arms grab Joel.

“Tell me you heard that,” Joel says desperately.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. I could take you back to the hospital—no?”

“I am either crazy or am going to end up in a government lab?” Joel says, voice getting high and squeaky.

“We can ask Mr. Hills about it? He came to talk to me after I woke up in the hospital, apparently he like, knows stuff,” Skizz says.

“I don’t wanna,” Joel says.

“Tough luck, buddy, you just almost fell over and cracked your head open!”

Suddenly, Joel remembers a long-nosed man and a blonde in a very blue boat. He remembers a cryptic conversation about bonds and power and their importance. He takes a deep breath. “Can you cover your ears for a moment?” he says.

“Yeah, sure thing, why—”

Joel, as loudly as he can, screams. He hears several birds fly away. He pants.

“…Joel,” Skizz says.

“Yeah thanks man don’t worry about it let’s never speak of this again I’m sure it’s nothing. I definitely didn’t have a weird dream about this and should go to bed.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say,” Skizz says cheerfully before laughing, which Joel continues grumbling about all the way back to his apartment.

[justabigassnerd]

New Home

Pairing - Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell x daughter!reader

Word count - 4,486

Warnings - death of a parent, strained father-daughter relationship, angst, running away, a pinch of fluff

Summary - after losing your mother, custody is granted to your father Pete Mitchell. however, it's been years since you last saw him

A/N - whoa whoa whoa I be swinging in with a new fic y'all! I actually loved writing this anon request and it does have the potential to be a series (the key word here is potential because I am not committing to anything just yet, I need to see how this turns out first). anyways I won't ramble, as per y'all, please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!

You hardly knew your father. You knew his name was Pete Mitchell, that he was a naval aviator, and that your mum insisted you inherited a large chunk of your personality from Maverick but that was the extent of your knowledge. You’ve seen pictures of him, and your mum told you about times he visited when you were a baby, but you held no concrete memories of your own of the man. Because of your lack of connection to him, you didn’t really consider Maverick your father. He stopped visiting when you were a baby, so you didn’t really care to acknowledge his relation to you. Your mum, while understanding your feelings and not wanting to force anything upon you, did try to encourage you to get into contact with Maverick if you could to try and form some sort of bond with him.

Then your mother got sick. You spent a lot of time outside of school caring for her and working your part-time job to keep you and your mum afloat when she had to stop working because her health was declining so rapidly. It was tough for you to try and keep things going and your mum tried to push for you to get into contact with your father, so you’d have someone to go to if she didn’t win the battle against her illness, but you always rebutted, insisting that she’d be fine.

You watched as your mother had to be admitted to the hospital for round-the-clock care. You always visited her after school or work and spent as much time with her as you could, constantly asking the nurses and doctors for updates and hoping by some miracle she’d recover.

But she never did.

Your mum passed away after three months of battling with an illness you could never understand, leaving you alone in the world. You soon ended up in contact with social services as your mother had contacted them prior to her death without you knowing and told them that she wished for you to move in with your dad as opposed to going into foster care. You were still hesitant about the whole thing. You barely knew him; you’d be uprooting your entire life to move to Miramar.

While you had to go home, pack bags and prep things for your mother’s funeral, Maverick received a knock on his door early one Saturday morning.

“Hello, are you Captain Pete Mitchell?” The woman on the other side of the door says, a kind smile on her face as she speaks. Maverick was taken aback by this woman being on the other side of the door, he would’ve put money on it being Bradley on the other side of the door over some random woman.

“I am. Can I help you?” Maverick asks, confused as to how she knows who he is and what she’s doing at his house.

“You have a daughter, y/n l/n, correct?” The woman then asks, eyes flicking down to the file in her hand while Maverick’s expression shifts from one of confusion to one of worry.

“Is she okay?” Is the first thing that comes out of Maverick’s mouth as he thinks of all the things that could possibly have happened to you.

“Her mother, Catherine, passed away a couple of days ago and before she passed, she made it known to us that she wanted y/n to be in your care since she has no other relatives.” The woman explains and Maverick feels his heart sink to his stomach at the woman’s words. His relationship with your mother may have been short, but he never stopped caring for her. Hearing she had passed hit him hard.

“She wanted me to take y/n in?” Maverick asks quietly, searching for confirmation as the woman nods slightly.

“She did. We’re going to help you and y/n with the process and check in occasionally after she’s moved in to make sure everything is okay with the two of you.” The woman says as she hands a card over with her name and number on it. Maverick inspects the card, learning that her name is Holly Fieldman before looking back up at her.

“When is she coming? I know she lives a couple of states away.” Maverick asks as he pushes the card into his jean pocket, watching as Holly silently asks to be let in and he obliges, stepping aside and letting her enter his house, leading her to the living room and sitting down opposite her.

“y/n wants to hold her mother’s funeral before she comes to Miramar.” Holly starts, flicking through the file and double-checking all the information she received from her colleague.

“That makes sense.” Maverick says slowly, wishing he could be there to help you with the funeral, but he was aware he could potentially overstep if he tried to get involved.

“My colleague said the funeral should be taking place within the next couple of days so I will contact you when we have a date set for y/n to come here.” Holly says as she glances up at Maverick who nods slightly in acknowledgement to her words.

“That’s okay, that gives me time to sort things out here.” Maverick agrees as Holly gets to her feet, Maverick quickly mirroring her actions and leading her to the front door and bidding her goodbye. Once he closes the door, Maverick turns around and rests his back against the door, staring into his house before muttering.

“Good thing I have the spare room clear.”

A few days later, after the funeral, you were all packed up and waiting at the airport for your flight to San Diego. Your leg bounced nervously as you stared at the sign above the gate door displaying the location you were flying to. Everyone around you seemed perfectly relaxed and ready for the flight ahead while you were thinking of everything that could go wrong. By the time you boarded the plane and found your seat, you could’ve laughed at yourself for how nervous you were. You were the daughter of a top naval aviator and here you were panicking about flying in a commercial plane which you were sure was much safer than doing whatever it was your father did for work. You were sure you looked crazy with the way you were gripping the armrests when the plane took off into the air, eyes scrunching shut as your stomach lurched at the foreign feeling.

Thankfully, the flight went smoothly, and no one made any comments about your very obvious nervousness. When you were allowed to disembark the plane, you followed the sea of people to luggage claim as you gripped the straps of your rucksack to try and direct your nerves somewhere. Once you grabbed your suitcase off the conveyor belt, you followed the large signs that led to the arrivals terminal where you soon located a smartly dressed woman holding a sign with your name on, so you approached her sheepishly.

“Hello, y/n. I’m Holly, we spoke on the phone the other day.” The woman says, introducing herself straight away and holding out a hand for you to shake which you do, nodding at her words and quietly thanking her when she offers to take your suitcase for you.

“Are you taking me straight to his house?” You ask as you stop outside Holly’s car, waiting as she loads your suitcase into the boot of her car before she turns back to face you.

“We’re going to have you meet your dad in a café first, a nice neutral setting for the both of you and I’ll be there to help ease you guys into everything.” Holly says, her bright smile never wavering when she speaks as she rounds the car and gets in the driver’s seat, with you getting in the passenger seat.

You tried to distract yourself by taking in the views of what was going to be your new home, but you couldn’t stop the pounding of your heart. You hated that you were so nervous. He had never been there for you growing up. He wasn’t a dad to you. So why were you so nervous?

When Holly parked outside a small café that was nestled along Miramar’s beachfront, your nerves were now in full drive and when she moved to open her door, you remained seated.

“Is it too late to ask if I can get a flight back?” You ask, glancing over at Holly who settles back in the car seat to address you.

“It is, sweetie. Look, I understand that you’re nervous. But everything is going to be just fine. I promise you.” Holly says softly, her smile softening as she addresses you and for a moment, you believe her words. You get out of the car, close the door behind you and follow Holly into the café.

As soon as you enter the small building, your eyes are immediately surveying the people that are in the café, searching for whichever one is Pete Mitchell. Then you saw a man stand up, eyes studying you as he looked at you and Holly and you soon noticed Holly moving to approach him. He matched the man in the sparse photos you had of your father so that along with Holly greeting him with the same bright smile she had used on you made you figure that he had to be Pete Mitchell and as you slunk along to meet him, you took a deep breath and made sure to not show your emotions. You already had a feeling he more than likely didn’t want to take you in, he just had to because your mum insisted on it. You just wanted to be prepared for the worst.

“y/n… wow you’ve really grown up.” Is the first thing Maverick can bring himself to say as you stand opposite him.

“Yeah… that’s what happens over time.” You say dismissively, shrugging your shoulders half-heartedly and your gaze flicks away to the table Maverick is sitting at so you could avoid looking at him.

“Why don’t we take a seat?” Holly suggests, not letting the mood deter her as she grabs the back of one of the chairs and pulls it towards her to make room for her to sit down at the table with you and Maverick following her actions. You sit opposite Maverick awkwardly, neither of you knowing how to start a conversation with the other.

“So, y/n, how was the flight?” Holly starts, attempting to initiate a conversation.

“It was okay.” You say half-heartedly, barely glancing at either person sitting at the table with you.

“Was it a busy flight?” Maverick then asks, trying to get a bit more information out of you.

“This was my first time on a plane I don’t know what constitutes ‘busy’, but most of the seats were filled I guess.” Your words came out a little harsher than you intended but you weren’t all that fussed about the way your words came out.

“Well you made it here safely and that’s all that matters.” Maverick then says, a small smile on his face to try and make you feel more comfortable around him. Instead, all he got back was a small shrug and you avoiding his gaze. He knew it must be a hard adjustment for you, especially when you haven’t had contact with Maverick in years but all he wanted was for you to feel comfortable and supported and he was going to do his absolute best to do that for you.

The rest of the interaction that was overseen by Holly went about as well as you expected it to. The atmosphere was awkward and there was a slight tension from you. By the time Maverick was allowed to take you home, Holly pulled both of you aside separately and told you that you could call her whenever and that she’d do a home visit in the next few days to see how things were progressing and left the two of you alone outside the café after handing you your luggage.

“Let’s get you settled in at home.” Maverick says after a minute or two of awkward silence between the two of you, gesturing with his head for you to follow him which you do so slowly, not in any rush to get to this new house. You load up your luggage, ignoring Maverick’s attempts to help you before getting in the backseat of the car, sitting behind the driver’s seat so Maverick couldn’t see you as easily.

“You can sit up front with me for the journey home, you know?” Maverick offers, turning around to glance at you sitting in the back of the car.

“I prefer sitting in the back.” You answer simply, already moving to put your headphones on you can just ignore everything on the journey to where you’d be living from now on. You hated that Maverick was calling it ‘home’. It may be home to him. But it could never be a home to you. Maverick watched sadly as you put your headphones in and adjusted the way you were sat so you were fully angled towards the window before he turned to face the front and began the drive to his house.

When he finally pulled into the driveway of the house, you weren’t shocked by what greeted you. It was an average-sized house in a small neighbourhood. Before Maverick even had time to turn around and talk to you, you were instantly climbing out of the car and heading to the boot of the car to pull your suitcase out, leaving Maverick alone in the car as he let out a small sigh before getting out of the car himself and crossing to the front door of his house to unlock the door and enter the house with you following behind.

As you enter the house, you follow Maverick when he leads you upstairs, opening a door and taking a step back for you to enter which you do. You glance around the room, it is practically bare, with white walls, and nothing more than a bed, wardrobe, and bedside tables.

“I’m sorry it’s so plain. I never really used this room. But you can decorate it however you want. I have a few days booked off work, so maybe we could get some things and decorate your room.” Maverick says, not daring to move an inch beyond the doorway as he watches you place your rucksack on the bed and take in the room. As Maverick had expected, you offered him no more than a mere shrug and noncommittal hum at his suggestion. Maverick was really trying to form some sort of bond with you. To try to make up for the years lost. But you clearly wanted nothing to do with him, and as much as it broke his heart, he couldn’t do any more than extend the olive branch and hope you one day take it. He didn’t want to overstep beyond that, so he nodded at your hum and headed downstairs.

You spent the rest of the day unpacking your belongings, hanging clothes up and storing things away before you finally placed the picture of you and your mum on your bedside table, so you always had her with you. As you tucked your suitcase under your bed, you heard Maverick calling you for dinner and as much as you didn’t want to go downstairs, the smell of food that was travelling up the stairs and into your room was making your stomach growl like nobodies business so you got up and went down the stairs, following the sounds of plates clanking to lead you to the kitchen but as you walked through the living room, your eyes drifted along the photos on the wall and you stopped opposite one particular photo. It was a photo of Maverick with a moustached man, both of them smiling for the camera with an arm wrapped around the other’s shoulders. You regarded the photo quietly, wondering who this man was. Did Maverick have another kid? As if he sensed you looking at the photos, Maverick emerged from the kitchen and approached you carefully.

“Having a look at the pictures?” He muses softly, a slight laugh tagged onto the end of his sentence to let you know he wasn’t upset or angry at you.

“Is he your son?” You ask, your gaze not moving from the picture of the two men.

“No. Not biologically at least. Bradley’s my best friend’s kid. But I helped raise him so he’s kind of like a son to me.” Maverick explains and you can’t help but feel a pang in your heart at his words. This Bradley guy got to have Maverick in his life as a father figure and you didn’t get your dad at all. It wasn’t fair.

“Come on, let’s eat.” Maverick urges softly, noticing the sadness in your eyes and hoping he didn’t just ruin everything between the two of you. You begrudgingly follow Maverick to the small table and eat your food in silence, barely giving Maverick more than a short sentence answer to any of his questions. The second you finished your meal you asked to be excused and retreated back to your room, leaving Maverick alone downstairs. He didn’t bother you for the rest of the night, only sticking his head in your room before he went to bed. Despite everything, he couldn’t stop the small smile that appeared on his face when he saw you curled under your duvet, fast asleep.

“Goodnight, y/n/n.”

Over the days Maverick had off, you tended to avoid as much interaction with him as possible. You’d have meals with him and hold the briefest of conversations but that was your limit. And you never called him dad. You didn’t want to get attached to someone who didn’t want you when you were a baby and was now stuck with you. When Holly came for one of her home visits, you tried to ask if you could be placed elsewhere but she was insistent that you see it through with Maverick. She urged you to give him a chance, and that she could tell he was genuinely trying to form a connection. She could understand that you were upset with the loss of your mother and having to move in with someone who was hardly present in your life, but your mum had picked him for a reason, and you needed to trust her judgement.

After Holly left, you spent the rest of the day in your room mulling over her words. You knew your mum had never steered you wrong before. But sending you to live with someone you hardly knew just felt wrong to you. When night fell, your thoughts were getting too much you decided you needed to head out to get some fresh air and to think some more. You didn’t have a destination in mind, you still hardly knew the area, you just knew you needed to be out of the house. You were able to sneak downstairs and out of the house with zero difficulty, Maverick was napping on the sofa so keeping quiet and getting out of the door was no difficult task for you. Once you made it to the end of the road, you pulled out your phone and searched for directions to the beach.

About five minutes after you left, Maverick’s eyes blinked open and he stretched his arms above his head as he stood from the sofa, wincing as his back let out a slight crack. He knew he needed to stop falling asleep on the sofa, but he couldn’t help it. Deciding it was time to finally retire to bed, he headed upstairs, heading straight to your door. Since you arrived, he always stuck his head in your room to whisper goodnight to you, despite the fact you were always asleep when he did it. This time, however, when Maverick opened the door, he couldn’t see any figure in the bed. The little slither of light that snuck through the crack didn’t illuminate any evidence that you were in bed and Maverick couldn’t help but instantly be in panic mode. He couldn’t find any evidence that you were still in the house, so he was soon grabbing his keys and leaving the house to search for you.

You sat on a little bench overlooking the beach, not too far from where the café you first met Maverick was, listening to the gentle sounds of the waves against the shore, your eyes drifting up to the starry sky and bright moon that hung within it.

“Mum, you wanted me to come here for a reason, right? You think Pete would take care of me and that I’d finally have a father figure, don’t you?” You mutter quietly up to the sky, wondering if your mum would give you some sort of sign that she was listening. Instead, you heard the revving of a motorbike engine and Maverick’s worried voice calling out to you.

“y/n, oh thank god I found you.” Maverick says, relief beyond evident in his tone as he sits down next to you on the bench, leaving a gap between the two of you.

“How did you know I was here?” You ask quietly, briefly glancing over at Maverick before your gaze flicked back to the stars.

“I didn’t. I just drove around looking for you. But I did know you haven’t explored the area much, so my best guess was near the café. I wouldn’t have stopped looking for you all night if I hadn’t found you here.” Maverick explains, watching you under the dim street lamp as your eyebrows furrow slightly and you turn to look at him properly.

“Really?” You ask, your voice timid as you look at Maverick.

“Really. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you. I promised your mother I’d look after you.” Maverick explains, watching as your eyes widen at his words.

“You promised… did you talk with my mum before she died?” You then ask, tears threatening to build in your eyes. In response to your question, Maverick pulls his wallet out of his pocket and produces a small picture, handing it over to you and you instantly study the picture. It was of you; it couldn’t have been taken more than six months ago. It was of you out in the park, sitting on a bench and completely oblivious to your mum taking a picture of you.

“She liked to send me regular updates on how you were doing, as well as pictures. She told me you get pretty good grades in your classes, which makes me proud. The last time I spoke to her must’ve been just before or around the time she got sick because I never heard from her after that. But she made me promise to look after you if something happened years ago. I didn't think anything would ever happen. But I never stopped caring for you.” Maverick explains as you quietly hand back the photo, the tears in your eyes beginning to show under the street lights.

“If you cared so much, why did you stop visiting?” Unlike Maverick would’ve expected, your voice held no harshness to its tone, just defeat. You were just a kid who’s been deprived of a father figure your whole life.

“My job is dangerous. And I know what it feels like to lose your parents when you’re young. I just couldn’t put you through that, so I thought it was best I stayed away to protect you. It hurt so much to say goodbye knowing I probably wasn’t going to see you again.” Maverick says truthfully, fighting back tears of his own as he looks at the picture, knowing he was the reason you grew up without a father figure in your life. He couldn’t help but beat himself up over it every day. He had stepped in for Bradley when Goose died but the second, he had a kid of his own, he backed off and abandoned you.

“Did your mum ever try to move on?” Maverick then asks quietly, a sad tone you’re not used to hearing from him in his voice, as you watch him.

“No she didn’t. Truthfully, I don’t think she stopped loving you. She always spoke so highly of you.” You admit, shrugging lightly as you remember all the times your mum had told you about Maverick and never spoke a bad word about him. At your words, a tear or two escaped Maverick’s eyes and he let out a shuddering breath.

“I don’t deserve that. She deserved to be happy.” Maverick says, more tears escaping him as you wipe at your own eyes.

��She was happy. The time she had with you was clearly all she wanted and needed.” You say, not wanting Maverick to feel guilty or upset for something out of his control, a complete turnaround from the way you had been acting prior.

“I’m going to make it up to you. I promise. If you need me at all, I will be there. You’re not alone anymore.” Maverick promises, and you nod at his words, finally believing his words before you move closer to him and carefully wrap your arms around him for a hug. At first, he was tense, but soon he reciprocated the hug, holding you tight as you tried your best not to cry on his jacket.

“Can we go home now?” You ask as a small breeze blows by, making you shiver slightly, even in Maverick’s warm embrace.

“Of course, sweetheart. Let’s go home.” He says softly, helping you to your feet and leading you to his motorbike where he instructs you on how to hold on safely before taking you back home, making sure he goes a bit slower than he usually does when on his bike. When you make it home, you’re stifling yawns as you trudge upstairs to get ready for bed and by the time you finally crawl into bed, your eyes are already closing but you force them open when you hear Maverick quietly asking if he could enter your room. For the first time since you arrived, Maverick crosses to your bedside and smiles down at you.

“Goodnight, y/n.” He says quietly, leaning down and pressing a small kiss on the top of your head, smiling as a smile covers your own face while you snuggle further into your bed. Just as Maverick reaches the door, he hears you speak up.

“Goodnight, dad.”

Maverick swore that the large smile that appeared on his face didn’t shrink until the next day. Until you called him ‘dad’ again the next morning.

[hypostatic-oath]

I've the post about how you think comps would work and we are allow to ask. Assuming I read that right.

And if so, I was wonder if you had any thoughts on how Dehya, Zhongli, Ei or Nahdia team would interact. Especially when I often joke she the bodyguards to three Archons, even if she doesn't know Zhongli was a former Archon it still funny to me.

DEHYA MY BELOVED-

I can see her being very proud of being Nahida's bodyguard. That one is obvious right off the bat, those two would absolutely adore each other.

Dehiya is thankful for the old consultant on her team. There is something odd about the man, always in those heavy robes that cover his full body - she has no doubt that out of all of them, he'd have the hardest time in the desert. And yet, the refined gentleman never seems to issue a complaint.

They've developed a kinship, she figures, of being the two mortals sided by two gods. Dehiya assumes he is the one meant to watch over the Electro Archon, just as she is the protector of Lesser Lord Kusanali. His shield is nearly impenetrable, and he is rarely ever startled... to her, it makes sense why you'd chosen him to be Eternity's guardian, even though the man hails from Liyue and not Inazuma.

They get along well, too - Ei seems to hold as much respect for him as he does for her, and the two converse with an ease that highlights the consultant's old age.

As for Nahida, she is slightly nervous. It is true that with Dehiya as her protector, and Rex Lapis raisong those shields of his, nothing will ever harm her. But she is still aprehensive to speak to the other two Archons - it has been a long time, and she has no idea how to introduce herself. She wonders if you'll give them time to play hopscotch together sometime amidst your exploration.

When you name Dehiya as the "Archons' Bodyguard", Ei is curious. She has fought for her entire life. Her skills are unparallelled. Why would she need a bodyguard? She's asked Morax about it, confused. Did you think she was weak? The old dragon had only laughed and said it was probably some sort of term of endearment - that Dehiya had been a bodyguard by trade before. Nevertheless, Ei was still curious about the woman's skill. Whenever you're logged off, the two can be found sparring. Both of them appreciate the opportunity to train.

During these times, the God of Wisdom sits next to the funeral consultant. Though reluctant at firstn their conversation ends up flowing. It is widely known that Zhongli likes to talk, and Buer, if given the chance and the encouragement to do so, will ramble about almost any topic. They have you to thank for placing them together in a team - they've become fast friends, and Nahida feels much more confident about approaching the rest of the Archons.

As for Ei and Nahida, it is almost the opposite. Both have been isolated for far too long, and neither knows how to start. The Raiden Shogun is an intimidating god, and her silence makes Nahida wonder if the ruler of Inazuma would even care to speak to her. As for Ei, she simply enjoys that Nahida has chosen to sit beside her, unaware of the God of Dendro's struggle as they both sit in silence. They eventually bond over their shared love for sweets, and as they grow closer, Nahida's worries diminish. It is not that Ei looks down on her - the Shogun is simply just as bad at interacting with new people as she is, or perhaps even worse. Kusanali is instilled with newfound resolve - she will share with the Electro Archon all that she's learnt from you and the Traveler when it comes to talking to others!

After months of traveling together, of being guided by you all across Teyvat, Dehiya has begun to suspect that there might be something odd about one of her travel companions.

You've named her the Archons' Bodyguard - Archons, plural - so what is Zhongli's role? The more she learns about the Shogun, the more she wonders why the Electro Archon would even need a bodyguard, let alone two.

Plus, the man's occupation makes no sense whatsoever. How does a funeral consultant learn to fight like that? He wears gloves, so she cannot thell whether his hands are calloused, but she's willing to wager they might be - he swings his polearm with an ease that tells her he is an experienced fighter. His dominion over his element is astonishing, and there is something... off, about how both her Archon and the Shogun talk to and about him.

Maybe one day one of them will slip off and call him Morax in front of her. Or maybe one day you'll tell her who he is. Either way, Zhongli drfinitely won't open up - both to preserve his secret identity, and because he knows that Dehiya finds comfort in the notion that she's not the only mortal among them.

[somber-sapphic]

Hi!! Long time lurker here. I love your stuff, it’s just so warm and comforting!! Was wondering if you could maybe do a fic about someone getting sick and being a bit over dramatic about it, and her caretaker isn’t taking her seriously, is being sarcastic, is poking fun at them, etc… until she actually takes her temperature and realize she has way more than a little cold. I’m not picky about the characters, so please do whoever you feel is best suited if you choose to do this prompt!! -💕

Dead On Your Feet

〖Notes: It's wonderful to hear from you! I chose Natasha as our caretaker, I hope you love it ♡ 〗

〖Summary: Maybe if you had been less dramatic she would've believed you.〗

〖Word Count: 1450 〗

〖Pairing: natasha x reader〗

☾Masterlists☽

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“I’m dying.” You announced, dropping your chin onto Natasha’s shoulder. She rolled her eyes in the mirror and smirked, giving you a look that clearly said that she didn’t believe you. 

“I’m sure you are my dear. What kind of flowers would you like at your funeral?” She joked, applying sunscreen to her pale cheeks. The woman could go outside on a cloudy day and come back in with a raging sunburn. Her skincare routine always included sunscreen, even on days when she would only be outside for a few minutes. 

“Natty, I’m serious, I really don’t feel good.” You pouted, sniffling pathetically. She just sighed and turned, smearing a bit of sunscreen on your nose. You scrunched up your face in protest and pawed at your reddening nose. 

“You can’t get out of a run that easily. Go get changed, we’re leaving in ten.” Damnit. The run. She had been pestering you to go on a run with her for weeks now and you had finally agreed just to get her off of your back. 

The only time you ran was when you were forced into it by Cap or Tony for ‘team bonding’. How a bunch of sweaty superheroes torturing their bodies counted as ‘bonding’ you had no idea. 

Of course, she didn’t believe you, she thought that you were just trying to get out of what would probably end up being a five-mile run. With a quiet sigh and a rough cough, you went back into the bedroom and pulled out leggings and a T-shirt, mentally preparing yourself for something that you really didn't want to do. 

You trudged outside where you found Nat waiting for you by the trails, stretching the muscles in her legs in preparation. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, a wide grin on her face. Her expression melted your heart and made you feel slightly guilty. 

All that you wanted to do was make this woman happy and on any other day you would’ve felt even a little bit excited to do this with her upon seeing her so full of joy. Today though you were breathing hard after the short walk, your lungs ordering you to sit the hell down and take some medicine. 

Your head had begun to swim, the beginnings of a fever making itself known. What had started as mild congestion had turned into a constantly runny nose that no amount of sniffling helped to clear. You sniffled nonetheless, unwilling to just let it drip. 

“Ready to do this?” She asked, reaching over to squeeze your hand. You squeezed back, but you weren’t sure what to say. You were definitely not ready to do this, but refusing seemed sort of mean. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but what came out was a fit of chest-rattling coughs that bent you at the waist. The assassin rested a hand on your back while you coughed, but she didn’t seem to think that the fit was a huge deal. 

“Wow, you’re really milking it, huh?” She grumbled once you’d straightened up, one eyebrow raised in mild annoyance. You felt your cheeks flush, but you were beginning to get frustrated. 

“I'm not milking anything, could we just get this over with?” You growled in return, your voice husky and weak. Natasha said something under her breath in Russian and turned away to start running down the trail. You huffed and followed her, breaking into a slow jog. 

Keeping up with her proved absolutely impossible. Even on a good day, she was fast and you were decidedly not. That fact was made worse by what was definitely a developing fever and the congestion filling your sinuses. There was no breathing through your nose anymore, just harsh wheezing through your mouth, each breath grating against your raw throat. 

The two of you had been running for about ten minutes before you had to stop, your body crying out as it begged you to rest. You slowed to a walk and stumbled into a tree, beginning to cough heavily into your elbow. 

It wasn’t the kind of cough that one got with a tickle in their throat, no it was harsh, wet, and completely exhausting. It shook your bones and made your head spin. You took a gasping breath, your lungs finally relaxing. 

Natasha was standing a few feet ahead, her posture tense and her bright emerald eyes were full of concern. She took a few hesitant steps toward you, but you waved her off, still annoyed with her lack of care earlier. 

“I told you I didn’t feel well.” You snarked your voice barely a rasp. She looked a bit butthurt at that comment but didn’t let that get the best of her. Without a word the assassin stalked over to you and pressed the palm of her hand against your forehead, her eyes widening at whatever she felt there. 

“Holy shit.” She breathed, her expression melting into one of pure worry. She cupped your cheeks between calloused hands and brushed away a tear that had escaped your eye during the coughing fit. 

You wanted to make another snarky comment but the telltale prickle in your sinuses force you to turn away so that you could sneeze (three fucking times) into your elbow. When you looked back up your eyes were full of even more tears and your nose was running. There wasn’t a dry spot left on your sleeve and your nose was still drippy after wiping it. 

Natasha stuffed a hand into her pocket and produced a napkin. You went to take it from her but she proceeded to clean you up, muttering under her breath about how stupid she was. When she pulled away she stuffed the gross napkin back into her pocket, offering you a gentle smile. 

“I’m so sorry Y/n. I should’ve listened to you. I shouldn’t have dragged you out here today.” She apologized, her voice riddled with guilt. You sniffled tiredly and shrugged, too tired to care anymore. All you wanted was to go home, but the idea of making your way back home made you feel even worse. 

“Should’ve just ignored you and gone back to sleep.” She chuckled quietly and kissed your warm forehead, grimacing slightly at the heat radiating from you. She was absolutely horrified with herself for not listening to you and was sure that later she would be beating herself up instead of sleeping, but for now, she needed to help you. 

“Can I carry you?” Wait, was she being serious? Did she want to carry you? You had no doubt that she could do it, but you were surprised that it was being offered. The shock on your face must’ve been evident because she had that look on her face that said you were gaping at her like an idiot.

“You look dead on your feet, let me give you a piggyback. I won’t tell anyone.” The redhead teased gently, bringing her typical humor to what could be considered a heavy situation. You sniffled and rubbed your bleary eyes, muffling another quiet cough into your shoulder.

“Whatever you want. I can walk.” Natasha spun around and you clambered up onto her back, feeling a bit childish and silly. Then you realized that you just didn’t have the energy to care. You wrapped your arms around her neck and put your head down on her shoulder, your eyes slipping closed almost immediately. 

When you emerged from your dream of floating in the ocean, staring at a sky full of stars, you were no longer on Natasha’s back, instead, you were laying in a soft bed, wearing totally different clothes, and there was a cool cloth resting against your forehead. 

Natasha lay beside you, her fingers tangled up in your hair as she very gently pulled her nails against your scalp in a way that always soothed you to sleep. A smile slid onto your lips and you shifted slightly, turning so that you could get closer to your beautiful girlfriend. 

“You awake?” She murmured, keeping her voice low just in case you were still sleeping. 

“Nope.” You replied, muffling a cough into the blanket. Natasha hummed and readjusted the cloth on your forehead, smiling as you sighed in pleasure. It was cool and it felt so, so nice.

“Alright, baby. When you wake up we’ll get you something to eat.” You made an incoherent sound in response, but she decided to assume that it meant okay. She would be right of course, you would do anything for the woman who you loved and you knew that she would do anything for you. Overall, dying wasn’t so bad. 

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[mentallyisekaid]

「 ✦ Fatui Harbingers x Signora's Sister! Reader, PART 2 ✦ 」

---

Part 1 [Part 2] Part 2.5 Part 3

It's highly recommended to read the parts in order, otherwise few things will make sense!

Author's note ~ From this chapter forward, Y/N will develop a strong, somewhat intimate bond with her fellow Harbingers, but it's still, essentially, platonic. After coming up with the full storyline for this series, I figured it'd best to keep romance to a minimum, so it won't distract me or the readers from what's happening plotwise. But make no mistake - all of them care quite fiercely about you... it's not labelled "Harbingers x Reader" for nothing :) And of course, you're free to interpret their relationship in any kind of way you prefer <3

---

Featured in this chapter, we have (drum roll, if you please)... Scaramouche, Childe and Columbina!

Warnings: brief/indirect spoilers regarding Sumeru's Archon quest and Scaramouche's lore

Word count: 3k

---

A month had passed since the funeral, and the day you'd become the 12th of the Fatui Harbingers at Pierro's request. Truth to be told, you hardly cared whether such a dubious position had been offered to you out of respect for Rosalyne's legacy, or merely because they'd wanted to keep an eye on the immortal girl who possessed two Visions.

For the past five centuries, your life had lacked any clear purpose - perhaps this new title could change things to something a bit more... colorful?

Perhaps they could be the change.

On that note, there was something quite peculiar you'd come to notice about the infamous Harbingers.

Despite joining their ranks, you had kept the reason behind your questionable situation as a secret, so on a very essential level they still knew next to nothing about you (except for the Director who definitely knew enough to make you very uncomfortable!) In this regard, shouldn't they have considered you a stranger, or at least a high security risk?

Yes, yes they should have.

Yet not only did they treat you as one of their own, but it appeared that for some reason, these people cared about you to an extent beyond just professional relationships, always looking out for you in weird ways, like making sure you didn't overwork yourself, stayed healthy and never lacked any weird luxuries like expensive bath salts - that, and the fact that they were almost constantly lingering around you...

As someone who'd grown used to getting by on their own, you didn't really know what to make of their behavior. Or how to return it.

But did you dislike it? Not really. Why? Well, you were still sort of figuring that out.

You were currently sitting in Pantalone's office, looking through some financial reports while the Regrator himself was away on a business trip. As things stood, this was pretty much all that your title as a Harbinger was good for - assisting your colleagues by handling the less direct approaches to their duties as diplomats of Snezhnaya. It was only natural that you weren't yet expected, or trusted, to do any actual fieldwork.

So, your days were mostly spent being surrounded by endless piles of documents...

*knock, knock!*

...and them, as you might have guessed.

You sighed, placing the papers down on the desk when another round of impatient knocks came in. Clearly, that someone was going to invite themselves in regardless of your answer, and it wasn't hard to narrow down the list of possible suspects since only the highest ranking members of the Fatui were allowed in this part of the headquarters - frankly, the doors here tended not to be Harbinger-proof?

But it's not as if you really minded, breaktime was due anyway. Also, their company was always vastly more entertaining than work!

"It's not locked, you know" you commented, leaning back on your chair.

A scoff was heard before the door was rudely pushed open, and an unfamiliar character marched with such arrogance you'd think they owned the place. This made you raise an eyebrow; what an admirable sense of superiority? It wasn't someone you'd met before, but judging from the way they carried themselves, you recognized them nonetheless.

The man with child-like features (and a rather beautiful face) stopped in the middle of the room, staring curiously, though somewhat condescendingly, at the girl behind the desk.

"Are you," he started, "perchance the Director's newest recruit?"

"It's already been a month, but I suppose... in any case, what can I do for you, mister?"

"Mister?" The Harbinger crossed his arms, both amused and irked by your way of addressing him. "Ha, do you not know who I am?"

"Oh, no, I'm fairly certain I do," you sighed. "A presumptuous attitude, and a strikingly non-traditional kasa hat... the Balladeer, I presume? I heard you were busy playing a god in Sumeru with one of Dottore's segments, so I thought it might be a while before I get to meet the last one of my colleagues. But here you are - Scaramouche, was it? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He was being rude too, you were just returning the discourtesy.

Scaramouche held back a chuckle, the bells from his hat jingling.

"Ah, yes, that would be me. And as to why I bothered coming all the way from Sumeru just to meet you, miss Twelfth..."

"I have a name. It's Y/N."

He clicked his tongue, taking a step closer.

"Yes, yes, whatever. Now, sit there and listen. I was in the middle of my little experiment on blasphemy when I suddenly heard that the Jester had recruited a new Harbinger, who, incidentally, has two Visions and is supposedly immortal - but she blatantly refuses to reveal anything about herself. Surely, you can imagine my slight annoyance at this, seeing as you, on the other hand, seem to know an awful lot about us."

You smiled a bit, fiddling with the quill pen in your hand.

"Yes, I don't exactly go around advertising my past to others. But aren't you same in that regard, Scaramouche?"

"I won't amuse you by answering that." He smiled eerily. "The point is, I don't like being kept in the dark - it gives people the chance to stab me in the back, and that's not something I'm particularly fond of."

"Ask the Director, then. I can assure you he knows all kinds of scandalous things about me - about all of us, no doubt."

He shrugged. "That won't be necessary."

In the blink of an eye, Scaramouche was no longer where he'd been standing before. The Sixth Harbinger had suddenly jumped on top of your desk, scattering the paperwork you'd spent hours organizing. He leaned forward with a smug look on his face, grabbing your chin between his delicate fingers.

"So, our little miss Harbinger refuses to reveal her secrets? We'll get those out of you, don't you worry~"

"My goodness?" Your previously dull eyes sparkled a bit. "What a bold move - it's certainly... something. I must say, I find your character quite fascinating, Balladeer."

"Likewise."

Behind that ruthless, indigo gaze, was a forlorn soul that had faced so much injustice...

When travelling around Teyvat for the past centuries, you'd caught bits and pieces of hearsay about Scaramouche's tragic past - most of it probably accurate. But it wouldn't have been wise to bring up such matters when you'd only just met him, especially since the Balladeer was widely known for his foul temper.

Though, judging from the way was looking at you, he probably knew what you were thinking. Even so, there was no ill intent in his eyes.

A new voice suddenly interrupted your odd encounter.

"I hope you're not harrassing our princess, dearest Scara!"

Tartaglia waltzed in to the office with an ominous smile. Scaramouche jumped down from your desk, scoffing at the sight of his ginger colleague.

"Ha, barely! I just happen to find her very intriguing."

Childe laughed a bit, stepping forward to pat your head.

"Well, I did tell you she was special, comrade. And to think you didn't believe me? Yet, here I find you. It seems Y/N Lohefalter is capable of drawing the attention of even the Balladeer himself, ahahhah~"

You followed their interaction, thoroughly entertained - compared to your previous uneventful life, this was certainly refreshing.

"Foolish boys," yet another familiar voice was heard, and Columbina strode in gracefully. "Avoiding your work to disturb Y/N with these shameful antics? Pierro would be quite displeased. Now, perish."

Damselette then turned her attention on you, smiling sweetly.

"Would you like to have an afternoon snack with me? I hope you've been eating enough, my dove."

"Now, now, don't be greedy..." Scaramouche taunted. "It's rather obvious that she and I were having a conversation."

You smiled a bit, pointing at each one of them with your pen.

"Technically, you're all are here equally uninvited. And on that note - as much as I'd rather do anything else right now - I really should continue with these documents or they're going to pile up..."

"Hey now, you know Pantalone doesn't like it when you overwork yourself, Y/N," Childe pointed out, crossing his arms.

Columbina smiled gently. "Yes, how about we go and have some tea instead?~"

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow at this.

"You sure speak to this girl in an unprofessional manner, Tartaglia, Damselette - if I didn't know better, I'd say it sounds almost intimate. Trying to snatch her away from me, perhaps? But you've already known her for a month; it ought to be my turn to get acquainted with our new little Harbinger. Y/N and I have some things to discuss, after all..."

"Oh?" Childe raised an eyebrow. "Then what exactly were you and her chatting so intimately about before I came?"

"Enlighten us, Balladeer," Columbina chuckled.

You shook your head a bit.

"Let's not go down that rabbit hole-"

"No." Scaramouche cut you off with a smug expression. "These two, and the rest of them... would agree with the opinion I shared with you, don't you think? Surely it's something that we've all been wondering about."

Columbina and Childe shared a brief but knowing look - it wasn't hard to guess what the Balladeer had said to you, and though he should have gone about it a more discreet manner, they couldn't deny their curiosity either.

The angel-like Harbinger walked next to you, brushing back a loose strand of hair from your face.

"I'd rather hear this from you," she hummed.

Her touch was a little cold but gentle, not at all unpleasant. You just weren't used to this kind of physical intimacy, or rather, it had been so long since you'd experienced any kind of intimacy, that it caught you a bit off-guard whenever your co-workers offered these weird gestures. It's not like you... really minded this. But it did make it hard to refuse when they the asked you for something.

You sighed, leaning back on the chair.

"Of course, I... know you're all somewhat displeased that I'm keeping these secrets from you, about my past, that is - how I've lived for this long, and how it's possible that have two Visions. It might be difficult for you to trust me because of this, but even so, I am not obliged to reveal anything. And you know as well as I do that the Jester already knows what there is to be known; he wouldn't have let me join otherwise."

Scaramouche narrowed his eyes, not content with your answer.

"Yes, but I also know that the Director is a man of his principles - either those secrets are shared of your own accord, or not at all."

"Then maybe you don't need to know? Maybe you're better off not knowing?"

Tartaglia frowned, leaning against the wall next you.

"Being a part of the Fatui already means that we're in way over our heads when it comes to anything questionable that's going on in Teyvat. Your... situation, is included in that, even more so because you're one of us now. And in case it's not clear yet, we do care about our own, even if that often gets a bit lost behind our agendas and differences." He put a hand on your shoulder and offered a reassuring smile. "So, we'd like to know more about you, Y/N. I'm sure that's what Scaramouche has been trying to tell you too, albeit he has a weird way of choosing his words."

The Balladeer crossed his arms. "What a speech, Childe." It sounded like a snide remark, you somehow sensed that he didn't mean it as one.

"For once, I agree with these two," Columbina said. "Though both are going about this in a rather thoughtless manner. Regardless of her past and whether or not she chooses to disclose it, she is a Harbinger - and that does not necessarily mean we should know all these things about her. Her only responsibility is to serve the Tsaritsa, after all."

She smiled at you. "But it is a shame you don't seem to trust us very much, Y/N."

Reverse psychology? Smooth.

"I think you've misunderstood me, though. It's not about trust."

You stood up from Pantalone's fancy office chair, stretching a bit.

"At this point, revealing those things might or might not cost me, but I'm pretty sure I won't gain anything from it either. If that's the case - well, is survival not about keeping the trump cards you have, or at least not giving them away for free? And information is often more valuable than Mora."

"You sound like the Regrator, though I'm sure he would disagree about the Mora part." Tartaglia chuckled. "But I like the way you think! So, what is it that you'd like in return for those secrets?"

"I'd be happy to arrange whatever it is~" Columbina singsonged. "Within the bounds of good taste, of course."

Scaramouche clicked his tongue. "What an insufferable girl - what is it you want, then?"

You tilted your head, wondering why these people were so invested in you. One day, you'd surely understand... but in this moment, you could only think about their offer and how it was just slightly too tempting to refuse.

"Well, right now, I'm craving for some excitement. Something more thrilling than this paperwork I'm drowning in day after day. I don't suppose one of you has a solution for that?"

Columbina's soft laughter jingled in the air.

Scaramouche was glaring at you.

Childe's eyes were sparkling.

"Excitement, you say?!" the ginger exclaimed. "Oh, that won't be a problem. How about we make a little bet, Y/N?"

"I'm listening."

"Let's fight a bit~ I've been wanting to see what you're capable of, and a match against the Eleventh Harbinger is far from playing around, so I'm sure it would prove exciting enough for you." He nodded toward the two gemstones hanging from your belt. "Use those Visions, any weapons and all the shenanigans you can possibly come up with - if you think you can. I promise to make it worth your while. Naturally, you'd have to share some of your past in exchange..."

You raised an eyebrow at his suggestion. "...if you manage to win, that is?"

Columbina chuckled. "Careful, Y/N. You'll get Tartaglia too excited~"

Scaramouche rolled his eyes.

"I'm not sure you understand what you're agreeing to, miss Twelfth. But by all means, go play with this idiot - I'll gladly come and watch, it ought to be entertaining. The next phase of my mission in Sumeru is not due in a while anyway." (And if by some miracle you do manage to beat Childe, I'll come up with other ways of discovering those secrets.)

The Balladeer as well had grown quite captivated by you.

Childe smiled innocently. "How about it, Y/N? Are you in?"

"You bet."

---

...who in their right mind had recruited this maniac?

Sure, the Harbingers had inhuman abilities, but this was pure madness. Tartaglia had yet to even demonstrate his Hydro powers, much less a Delusion, but merely by using his agility and a pair of escrima sticks he had already brought you to your knees.

It's not as if you considered yourself to be a particularly skilled fighter, but you did have five centuries' worth more experience than him, and quite a few tricks up in your sleeve. But Childe only ever gave you the time to use your polearm - no Visions, no shenanigans - and even so, you didn't manage to land a single hit on him.

You lay on the floor of the training grounds, breathlessly gazing up at Tartaglia who was pinning you down with his knee.

"Ready to yield, girlie?"

"Ha... I'm not, *huff*, giving up that easily..."

He smiled, putting a bit more pressure on your chest - not in a painful way, but it was still enough to diminish your remaining fighting spirit rather quickly.

"Alright, alright, fine... please, *huff*... stop, Tartaglia... I, *huff*... give... up..."

"You can call me Ajax, by the way."

The ginger stood up, gazing down at you with a grin on his face. Well, at least now you knew that the rumors about his martial arts prowess weren't exaggerated? Neither was the fact that whenever he did fight, there was this euphoric (honestly a bit scary) aura around him. Reminder - think twice before you accept a challenge from this guy in the future!

That said, you had quite enjoyed yourself...

Ajax offered his hand to you, and you meekly took it, allowing him to pull you up from the ground.

Columbina and Scaramouche, who had been silently observing from the sidelines, appeared slightly amused and certainly pleased by the end of your struggle. This outcome had been more or less expected, but ever so welcome. A Harbinger never backed on their word, after all~

"Now then, my angel..."

"...you better keep that promise."

The three of them led you to a small lounge, dimly lit by a fireplace and deserted from any members of Fatui. Exhausted, you slouched down on a couch and closed your eyes.

Damselette came next to you wordlessly, laying down and letting her head rest on your lap. This was a habit of hers that you didn't mind; while admittedly rather intimate, it was something like this that you had long yearned for.

Childe leaned against a nearby wall, smiling at you encouragingly. For some reason, you always felt at ease around him. He was like an "older" sibling - more than she ever was, the one you'd already lost before her death.

The Balladeer was sitting on an armchair, observing you with an unreadable expression. The slight softness in those cold eyes was perhaps only noticed by you; an abandoned soul recognizes its own kind.

"Now then, Ajax, Scaramouche and Columbina. Allow me to tell you a story - one that discloses how my first Vision came to be. While I'm at it, I suppose I might as well reveal why Rosalyne and I shared such a difficult relationship..."

(to be continued)

[tsunami-of-tears]

Peace

Cassian x Reader

Summary: Your cousin passes away abruptly and Cassian is there to help pick up the pieces. 

A/N: Another self-insert fic because writing is so ✨healing✨ ~ apologies, this one is super sad

Wordcount: 1K

Warnings: hurt/comfort, death of a relative, chronic illness, dealing with grief/loss

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ

Time stands still as your father’s words echo in your mind. 

“She didn’t make it.”

Your cousin and the Princess of Adriata, Cresseida, had at last succumbed to her devastating illness. She’d suffered a lot, but you selfishly thought you’d have more time. There was still so much you wanted to ask her. She had so much wisdom that you’d never get to hear. You didn’t even have the chance to tell her about your mate, Cassian. 

Your mate. Your rock. 

Though your heart aches at the loss, you are grateful to have Cassian to help you through it. Together you were an unbreakable force. 

However, not unbreakable enough to grant him entrance to the Summer Court for Cresseida’s funeral. 

That ban was still firmly in place as the bond was new. With all that had happened, you hadn’t had the chance to mention it. Your father, Tarquin, was grieving profusely - so you didn’t think it was appropriate. 

I’ll tell him after the funeral, we can wait a little bit longer. 

Though Cassian wanted to be there for you in person, he supported your decision to keep things quiet.

Cresseida was like an auntie to you. As the eldest of Tarquin’s six children, you had the honour of saying a few words at the funeral ceremony. 

The weeks leading up to the funeral went by in a blur. You went about your days feeling numb to the world. You hadn’t shared a single tear over your cousin. It didn’t feel real. 

You’d put off writing your eulogy until the last minute for that very reason. You still struggled to wrap your head around the fact that she was gone. Just. Like. That. 

Never again would you hear her laugh or see her smile. You’d never again get to hear the stories about her childhood with your father, not in the way she could tell them.

“It’s all wrong,” you sigh, exasperated over your eulogy. Your desk was littered with scrunched-up papers, your hands were covered in smears of ink. 

A warm hand gently strokes your back, attempting to soothe you. 

“Sweetheart, you’re overthinking it,” Cassian says.

You slump forward, head in your hands. “I don’t know why I agreed to this. I’m not good at this sort of thing,” you groan.

“We both know you’re the best person for the job. She loved you, I know she’d be proud of you, just like I am.” Cassian moves his hand to hold your face, tilting your face to look up at him.

You nod and press your cheek into his palm. Cassian leans down and plants his lips on yours. His love and encouragement flood down the bond. “You can do it, you’ve got this,” he says against your mouth. 

You lean into him again, kissing with more heat and raw need. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers tangle in his hair as he grabs your hips and effortlessly lifts you onto the desk. 

For a moment, you get lost in passion with your mate. Until the loud crash of books falling from the desk gets your attention. 

Cassian pants heavily as he pulls away, you groan as you rest your forehead against his broad chest. “I really need to finish this and head to Summer. I can’t right now.”

Cassian kisses you, softly and sweetly. “Of course, sweetheart,” he says.

————

The following morning, you stand outside the temple with one of your sisters, watching everyone file in. There are so many people you don’t recognise. 

Your eyes brim with tears.

This is it. She’s really gone.

You look at your sister and the floodgates burst open. 

Tears pour and pour and pour. You feel like you’re drowning in devastation. You can barely take in enough air to breathe.

Your sister pulls you into a tight hug as you let out choked sobs. She rubs your back and you manage to calm your breaths. In, and out.

You sigh into the embrace and wish you hadn’t opted to wear makeup. You attempt to wipe the smears from under your eyes to no avail - the tears just keep falling. 

It’s time to go inside and begin, so you walk down the middle aisle to your seats in the front row, avoiding making eye contact with everyone. 

As you settle into the chair, the organ starts to play a soft song. The High Priestess steps to the front of the dais and begins the ceremony.

You continue to cry through most of it, as your father and other relatives speak. 

You somehow manage to compose yourself to deliver your own eulogy. You only choke on the final line.

“I love you. I hope that wherever you are, you’re at peace now.”

————

You have a dark cloud over your head for the rest of the day. 

So many strangers come up to compliment you on your beautiful words. You thank them all for their kindness, offering handshakes and hugs, but it feels shallow. 

A trace of bitterness sets in, they don't understand. They didn’t know her like you did.

You endure the wake for your father’s sake. He’s really hurting, and he needs you here. It’s the time to be with family, you just feel at a loss without all of yours. 

————

After the longest day of your life, you finally get to return home. 

You open your front door to Cassian plating up dinner. Nothing too crazy, just your favourite comfort meal - mac and cheese. It’s then that your stomach rumbles and you remember that you’ve barely eaten all day.

Cassian looks up as you enter, putting down the saucepan and opening his arms to embrace you. “Come here my love, I’m so proud of you. Cres would be too. I wish I could have got to know her better.”

You nod in response. Words are too hard right now.

“I made your favourite, come and eat. You’ll feel better.” You give Cassian a small smile as you sit and tuck into the cheesy pasta. He knows you need some extra help today.

After dinner, Cassian carries you to the bathroom, runs your bath and helps you wash.

Wrapped in a towel, you sit at the vanity as he brushes your hair, all while whispering sweet nothings. 

Once you’re dressed, Cassian carries you to bed where you snuggle up on his chest as he reads your favourite book to you. You fall asleep wrapped in his arms, you’re at peace too.

[rosaramaryllis]

"ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ" God!AU (Y/N) x Zhongli/Morax

Summary: (Y/N) is the God of Affection, and has a power where she can see who someone loves wholeheartedly. But everytime she looks into Morax's eyes, all she can see is Guizhong.

Author's Note: Started to slack off near the end, sorry if it sounds half-assed. (Probably because it is.) Word Count: 1,035

Morax, the Geo Archon. the God of Contracts. (Y/N), the God of Affection, Love, and all things adoration. They were a reoccurring duo that appeared throughout history. Unfortunately, the Geo Archon had recently passed away, as a result of a trial. Citizens of Liyue mourned while the worshippers of the God of Affection wondered how it had impacted their benevolent deity. In reality, Morax had taken the form of a funeral consultant named 'Zhongli', and (Y/N) had their own human form, and frequently hung out together. The love god would invite him around to go to festivals, or just to have a nice cup of tea together. Of course, Hu Tao would often come along, before having to rush off due to last-minute business. Zhongli and (Y/N) had been through life and death together. He was their superior when it came to training, him being kind enough to show them the reins of becoming a god, and handling all the weird prayers that came in the form of voices in their head. It was overwhelming at first, but Morax helped them through it, and (Y/N) couldn't help but develop a sort of admiration for him. Eventually, (Y/N) started to tag along with him on his travels, and the two bonded. Though they were temporarily separated during the early days of the Archon War, (Y/N) didn't let that bother them, nor did they want to trouble themselves with the war, and for the duration of it, gathered civilians and humans to shelter them in homes that they had built themselves. This empathy and kindheartedness gave (Y/N) their title by the humans, 'The God of Affection', for the love they had shown the mortals. The two met again, later in the war. The humans that (Y/N) kept under their wing were set free to roam the lands after the war, though most of it was destroyed or new islands were formed, like Guyun Stone Forest, created as a result of Morax launching multiple giant stone structures at the God of the Vortex, Osial. It was considered a dangerous place to roam, considering an evil ancient god was right underneath it. Morax was glad that (Y/N) had survived the destruction, and introduced them to the new Archons, amongst them was Barbatos, the Anemo Archon. (Y/N) and Barbatos would be inseparable when they first met, given their shared love of romance and humanity. Unfortunately, he would go into a deep slumber, unaware when he would even wake up.

(Y/N) had become friends with Barbatos, not only because they had things in common, but because they wanted to become more independent, away from Morax. They loved him, and that was the issue. Morax saw them as nothing but a close friend. Even worse, during the Archon War, when they had finally reunited, Morax had also introduced (Y/N) to the Guili Assembly. Guizhong, Cloud Retainer, Mountain Carver. (Y/N)'s power was based off of love, but now it had broken their heart. In his eyes, there was Guizhong. Back then, there was no one in his eyes. The reflection in peoples' eyes only showed who someone loved romantically, without a doubt. But how could (Y/N) hate her? Guizhong was so kind, and even gave up her life for her people. The Guili Assembly mourned, while (Y/N) helped move her people south to avoid the massive flood that invaded right after. They would help preserve her legacy, and remembered her fondly to this day. Sometimes, they would also arrange performances telling about her adventures with other gods, (Y/N) was proud whenever they and the rest of the Guili Assembly were featured in the story.

Previously, (Y/N) didn't see the need to use their 'eye-peeking' power. However, they couldn't help themselves. Just once, they wanted to see their face in his eyes. Even the look of adoration that Zhongli looked at them with everyday wasn't enough. Every time they thought that they might have finally won his heart, his eyes would tell them otherwise.

It was selfish of them, they knew. But just once, they wanted to see themselves in his eyes. Just once.

Just once.

Just. Once. Those words echoed in their head, their heart pounding in their head, what just happened?

Oh no.

(Y/N) laid on the ground, weakly. The burning feeling across their torso starting to render in. It was so painful, like an inferno burning in their chest, probably because it was.

A pyro-axe mitachurl should've been easy for them to eliminate. It should've. So why? Why was the revered God of Affection laying on the ground, nearly cleaved in half?

"..(/N..."

"...(Y/).."

"...(Y/N)..!"

Something else started to fade into their head. This time, they forced themselves to weakly turn their head to the side. A man with a golden shield and a brown suit, their vision was blurring, but they could tell who it was. They always have. Bits of dialogue flew over (Y/N)'s head, but they felt Zhongl- No, Morax's arms lift them off the ground. Was he.. trying to take them to Baizhu? They looked up at the desperate man. He didn't look this bad in years. (Y/N), even with their limited vision and strength, reached out to touch Zhongli's cheek, the other leaning into the touch before trying to reassure them that they would be fine.

They had to be.

(Y/N)'s eyes grew a bright pink as they looked into Zhongli's eyes.

Just once.

And there she was. No, not (Y/N). Guizhong.

(Y/N) switched off their power, their eyes filling up with tears instead. They had no more energy, the pink fading out of their eyes. However, the God would notice something before their death.

In Zhongli's eyes, there was their reflection. It.. wasn't the truth, but perhaps this was close enough.

Finally, they may not have been the closest to his heart at the moment, but at last, he looked at them, and they looked back in the form of his golden irises.

A limp hand fell to their side, the God of Affection dying with a smile on their face.

Tis' but a shame, for the God of Affection loved him so much, but he would never know just how much they did.

[zahri-melitor]

The Many Post-Crisis Christmases of Tim Drake

Yes, everyone gets a few Holiday issues over the years, but Tim’s got his own special levels of trauma associated with the holiday.

A round up of every time Tim appears in comics about Christmas, sorted by year:

1990: Identity Crisis - Batman #455-457 aka Janet Drake’s funeral. Janet is buried on Christmas Eve. Jack’s still in a coma. Tim is living with Bruce at this point. Tim spends a lot of this storyline having nightmares and worrying by Jason’s memorial case. At the very end, Bruce and Alfred give Tim his personal Robin costume and Tim goes out officially as Robin for the first time.

1996: Holiday Bash I – “Just Another Night” it’s just a small mention here, but given future events it’s worth noting. Tim leaves a Christmas card for Alfred, and Jack takes Tim to the Caribbean for the holidays. Very in line with Tim’s behaviour during this period, where he’s noted for giving Babs thank you notes.

1998: Holiday Bash III – “Alone for the Holidays” aka the single point in canon that supports Neglected Sad Boi Tim Drake. Tim is, as the title implies, alone for the holidays and moping about it. Jack and Dana are trapped in Chicago because the airport is closed due to snow (Why Jack and Dana are in Chicago is left to the reader). Babs and Dick call Tim over to the Clock Tower for a Loners Christmas Party. It will never not be funny to me that Alfred and Harold are at this Loners Party, but Bruce isn’t. Only a TRUE committed loner misses the family loners Christmas party.

1999: Endgame, No Man’s Land (LotDK #126, Batman #574, ‘Tec #741). If you are unfamiliar with this classic story, Joker kidnaps 36 babies on Christmas Eve in No Man’s Land and threatens to blow them all up. Tim gets called away from Christmas dinner with Jack (as a note, Tim’s outside NML at the dinner, then immediately dives inside for this. Never bother trying to make sense of how often Tim got in and out of Gotham during NML) and is helping track down the babies. It’s…traumatic for everyone involved.

2001: Young Justice #40. The Night Before Doomsday. This is the story where Santa dies and Young Justice find themselves having to deliver all the presents on his behalf.

2006: Slayride, ‘Tec #826. Tim is running away from a group of drug dealers and is offered a ride by a passing car. The car is driven by Joker. Tim gets tied up with Christmas lights and eventually distracts him via an argument with Joker about the Marx Brothers.

2008: “It’s a Wonderful Night” and “The Night Before Christmas”, DCU Holiday Special #1 2008. Two reminders that Tim has a hard time at Christmas in one!

“It’s a Wonderful Night” is a tear jerker where Dick goes looking for Tim to deliver a Christmas present. He finds him at a cinema watching a showing of It’s a Wonderful Life. Captain Boomerang Jnr is also there. Tim and Owen bond over their dead dads both liking the movie (which…given their dads killed each other, is a thing) and Dick gives Tim his old Robin costume. You WILL cry.

“The Night Before Christmas” is a Titans story, particularly notable as far as Tim goes in that Tim and Cassie talk about how the holidays remind Tim of the people he’s lost (and look, for perfectly good reasons, given the above).

[arliedraws]

Good Godfather Sirius Black Fest 2024

Day 6 Prompt: "Dating Advice"

Summary: Sirius gets home from a terrible date and reflects on it with ten-year-old Harry who has recently moved in with him. When Sirius makes an offhand comment about parenthood, it prompts both of them to reconsider their own self-talk. (Tonks is in it for about five minutes,fyi)

Pure godfather&godson bonding/family fluff. Sequel(ish) to “The Neighbor.”

@goodgodfathersiriusblack

AO3

----

“You’re back!”

The green-haired teenager sprang from the sofa, blinking sleep furiously from her eyes. Pins on her leather jacket clinked together as she skidded into the kitchen. With an oof, she slid too far in ripped black nylons, and Sirius caught her elbow before she rammed into the cabinet.

“Well?” she said, unfazed by her own clumsiness.

Sirius pulled a face at her.

“I told you not to date women,” she said, grinning.

“Last week you told me not to date men.”

“Yeah, I stand by that too.”

Sirius fished in his pocket for the bag of coins. The bag was considerably lighter than it’d been a few hours earlier before he’d exchanged wizarding gold for quid—a few hours of his life and cash he’d never get back. He withdrew a few Galleons and dropped them into her outstretched hand.

“Don’t you want me to find love?” he said.

Tonks looked sharply at him. “Love?” she said as if the word were new. The taste of it seemed to disgust her.“You’re looking for love?”

“I—” Sirius paused. “Er—aren’t I?”

“Are you?”

Sirius stared at her.

Was it love he wanted? Or was it lovemaking? He thought about the woman who had stolen several precious hours of his life—she was a complete imbecile but she wore tight jeans and a very low-cut top. Maybe it was just a rough go of it against a brick wall behind a pub that he wanted.

“I don’t know,” he said at last. “Have you ever been in love?”

“No,” she said, snorting. “Why would I do that? Have you?”

“In a way,” said Sirius. Then he frowned at her. “You do believe in love, don’t you?”

“Oh,” Tonks said. She nodded. “Yeah, ’course I do. I love my parents and friends, but I’ve never been in love. That sort of romantic stuff seems a bit…I dunno. Expensive.”

Sirius laughed despite himself and tossed the whole coin purse at her. Tonks, surprised, caught it.

“Harry’s alive, right?” said Sirius.

“Yeah,” said Tonks. She looked nervously at the coin purse as if she thought it might be a trick. “Sleeping, I expect. What’s this for?”

“Bit of a bonus. Did he eat?”

“Yeah. I’m a poor cook, though. Nearly burnt down the kitchen.”

“Ah, so that’s why it smells like charred corpse.”

“Of course you’d say that. You sound like Mad-Eye Moody.”

Sirius shoved aside memories of burned bodies as he inspected the huge black mark on the wall near the stove. Part of the drywall had crumbled onto the floor. Tonks blushed and pulled out her wand.

“Reparo!” she said. “Sorry. Forgot to do that before you got back.”

“What did you two eat, then? Charcoal?”

“Harry made us sandwiches.”

“You can’t make a sandwich?”

Tonks had moved towards the door and starting lacing up a chunky black boot, hooking each lace carefully before tying it off. “Didn’t want to risk it. Besides, Harry’s pretty good at the food thing, and I thought, well, if he wants to eat something halfway decent, let him do it. Anyway,” she said, pulling on the other boot, “we talked about going to the Puddlemere United match next weekend if you’ll let us. I’ve got an extra ticket for him if you’re all right with that.”

Sirius opened his mouth to say that he didn’t know if it was a good idea. Thinking better of it, he turned away and pretended to look at the calendar on the wall, knowing that he ought to say yes. What could happen at a Quidditch match in the middle of the day? Unfortunately, he could come up with myriad tragedies in his imagination, all of them ending with Harry’s funeral. But Tonks is an Auror trainee—she’s not stupid! Still, it churned his stomach to think about letting Tonks bring him to somewhere so crowded and so public…

“We’ll see,” he said finally.

“Well,” he heard her say, “send an owl by Thursday. I’m off.”

Sirius said farewell, and she left. Faintly, there was the pop! of Apparition from just outside the door. Pointing his wand over his shoulder, he hit the lock with a charm and it slid into place. The wards he and Dumbledore built around the house rendered a physical lock unnecessary, but locking a door never hurt.

The round clock that the former owner of the house had left behind was ticking slower than Sirius thought it should, but perhaps it was because he had simply grown used to hours that felt too long. The evening that he finally gave up on might have really lasted several days instead of three hours.

For the dozenth time, he wondered what possessed him to say yes to her. Sirius and Harry had been waiting in line at the cinema when the woman and her friend tapped him on the shoulder. Distracted by the way a long lock of her hair rested on her breast, Sirius accidentally said yes to her invitation to dinner much to his and Harry’s horror. For days, he agonized over the idea, but it was Harry who suggested he keep his word. After all, Harry had said, it might be rude to stand her up.

She was a Muggle woman whose name kept slipping out of his mind throughout their date. She was very dull. Loud, but very dull. All she wanted to talk about was how impressed she was that he was parenting his godson all on his own and how brave it was for him to take on such a burden. It might not have been so annoying if she had let him talk about Harry and explain that it wasn’t very hard to look after such a good kid, but she had no interest in that bit. In fact, she rolled her eyes and told him he ought to see how unique it was that a man could be so sensitive and so thoughtful.

Sirius went up staircase after several minutes of self-pity alone in the kitchen. The light was on in Harry’s room when he reached the top stair, so he knocked gently and poked his head in.

Harry was asleep. His glasses hung from his nose, a book about broomsticks was open on his lap, and he was propped up against several pillows, his head lolling over his chest. He was snoring. Sirius grinned and tiptoed inside. Gently, he reached for the precariously hanging spectacles when Harry’s eyes flew open.

“Sorry!” Harry blurted.

Sirius swallowed that familiar lump of fury at the Dursleys. Harry hated when Sirius told him he didn’t have to apologize, though Harry would never say so outright, so Sirius held back from saying that Harry had nothing to be sorry about.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Sirius whispered. “Just taking off your glasses.”

Harry shoved them back over his nose. “When did you get back? Is Tonks still here?”

“Just now, and no, she left. Heard about the fire.”

“I didn’t know you could start a fire like that with just water.”

“It’s hard, but Tonks is a wonder,” said Sirius. “You can sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow morning.”

“How was your…date?”

The slur of sleep was quickly leaving Harry’s voice, and Sirius sighed inwardly. How good a parent could he be if he woke up his kid at midnight? But he couldn’t resist indulging Harry’s smirk.

Sirius flopped on his back onto the bed, groaning.

“Last week, you said you never wanted to go on another date. Why’d you tell her yes, then?”

“Cheeky boy,” said Sirius, popping his head up to glare at him. “You’re the one who said it would be rude not to show up.”

“Yeah,” admitted Harry. “But you shouldn’t’ve said yes in the first place. Why did you?”

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head, letting it bounce against the mattress. “Oh, Harry. Because I’m a bloody idiot. And she took me by surprise.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Well, you saw her. She had this sort of shape—” Sirius mimed with his hands “—and it seemed like a good idea for a second.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

Sirius waved his hand dismissively. “Everything…nothing… Hard to explain. Look, Harry, never go for someone just because they look like this—” again, he mimed his date’s ample figure “—or because they’ve got an appendage like this—” he spread his hands wide. “It might seem like you’ve won the jackpot, but it’ll cost you a dozen galleons, several hours of your life you’ll never get back, and a wicked headache.”

“I don’t think I’m very interested in all that,” said Harry. “Er—dating.”

“Good. Save your gold. We’ll be bachelors together, old chum.” Sirius patted Harry’s leg. He lurched forward until he had propped himself on his elbows, eyeing the bedroom that was half-lit by the solitary lamp on the bedside table. “Think we should get a few decorations in here, Harry. Bit sparse, don’t you think?”

“So wait, what happened?” said Harry. “Was it like last time?

“The one with that bloke from the department store? No, it was different. Worse.”

Sirius didn’t need to look at Harry to know the boy had probably reddened at the memory. Though Sirius hadn’t regaled anything inappropriate regarding his evening with the young man named Matthew, he knew Harry was still unused to the idea that two men could date each other. Admittedly, it was rather new to Sirius too. Before Azkaban, he had never considered the possibility he could meet another man at a restaurant, share wine and talk about romantic things… And frankly, it still wasn’t easy. There were plenty of questioning, disgusted looks shot at them that Sirius pretended not to notice. What did worry Sirius, however, was that the Muggles were battling a strange disease spread through sexual encounters, and it was slaughtering entire communities. In the end, Sirius’s date confessed that he was too nervous to take things further and wished Sirius good luck in the future. It had been difficult to explain to Harry.

Harry’s understanding of men like Sirius came from his aunt and uncle’s declarations that anyone who engaged in such depraved activities ought to be beaten by police and locked away for sexual deviancy. Patiently, Sirius had guided Harry through his conflicted thoughts.

“Your aunt and uncle also hate magic,” he had said. “But do you think magic is bad? Punishable?”

“Oh,” said Harry after a moment. “Right.”

So when Sirius blurted yes to the woman at the cinema, Harry was confused again. After the woman and her friend had gone, Sirius quickly explained that to him, it didn’t really matter to him a person’s gender.

“Then what was wrong with her?” Harry asked, rubbing his eyes before he set aside the book.

Sirius shrugged. “Didn’t do it for me. I wanted to talk about things she wasn’t particularly interested in.”

“Like what?”

“Er—well, reckon she got a bit tired of me talking about you.”

“What? You talked about me? Why would you do that?”

“It’s just what parents do,” said Sirius, dismissively. Then he heard it. His soul might have detached from his body, then, as his own words echoed back between his ears. He realized what had come out of his mouth, what it must have sounded like. His stomach clenched with guilt, and he looked very quickly at Harry. “Er—I—”

Harry tried to hide it but Sirius could see the sudden swell of emotion gleaming in those big, green eyes before they fixed upon the floor. Sirius sat upright, grimacing.

“I didn’t mean—Harry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

Harry frowned. “You didn’t?”

“I’m not your dad. I know that. I swear, I’m not trying to take his place. It just slipped out.”

“Oh,” said Harry.

Sirius’s heart thudded. Was that…disappointment he heard in his voice? Harry had curled his hands into fists over the coverlet, knuckles white as if he were trying his hardest to keep his face impassive.

“Harry?” said Sirius after a long silence. “Harry, are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Harry…” Sirius started slowly, peering into the boy’s face. “Did you like that I called myself your parent?”

“No, I’m being stupid,” said Harry in disgust. Ashamed, he pulled the book back into his lap and pretended to read, though his eyes were staring at one spot on the page.

Sirius reached for Harry’s chin and tilted it up with a finger. Harry resisted looking at him, but after a tense moment, he dragged his gaze to Sirius miserably.

“You’re not my dad,” said Harry, more to himself than Sirius.

“I’m not trying to be, and I could never take James’ place.”

“Yeah, I know. Look, it’s fine. I’m not asking you to be him.”

“But can I tell you something?” said Sirius, lightly.

“Sirius, it’s fine—”

“—I liked calling myself your parent.”

Harry shook his head. “No, you’re just saying that.”

“I don’t just say anything, Harry. What I said slipped out because it’s what I feel. The first thing I set out to do when I was released from Azkaban was to find you. When Dumbledore told me I couldn’t take you away from your aunt and uncle, I moved in next door because I couldn’t stand the thought of not knowing you. Even if you couldn’t know who I was for your own protection, I chose to live in that awful neighborhood to be close to you.”

“I’m sorry you had to—”

“Don’t be sorry,” said Sirius, trying to quell his annoyance. “Harry, don’t you understand? When you were born, my entire life changed. I helped your parents with everything—I put you to sleep, I carried you around while you screamed, I changed your rancid little nappies. I saw you take your first steps and say your first words. I know I’m not your father, but you’ve got to believe me when I say that I think of you as my kid. Can you accept that?”

To his relief, Harry nodded.

“Good,” said Sirius. He squeezed his face, squishing the crimson cheeks. “And if you call yourself stupid again, I’ll put a tickling hex on you until you admit you’re the most brilliant person in the world.”

“But I’m not—”

Sirius reached into his pocket. “Where’d my wand go?”

“Okay!” Harry blurted. “Okay, I won’t call myself stupid!”

“Then say it!” said Sirius, pretending to search in his jacket. “Say you’re the most brilliant person in the world.”

“All right—I’m brilliant!”

“That’s not what I told you to say, Potter. I’m sure I left my wand here somewhere— Ah! Here it is!”

Harry groaned. “Fine—fine. I’m the most brilliant person.”

“What’s the incantation? Rictus—”

“I’m the most brilliant person in the world!” Harry cried, scrambling from the aim of the wand. “I’m the most brilliant person in the world!”

Sirius grinned and caught him by the leg, yanking him back as Harry laughed and tried to get away.

“Say it again, you clever little genius,” demanded Sirius.

“Sirius!”

“Say it!”

“No!”

“Say it!” Sirius jabbed him in the side, and Harry curled up, howling with laughter, wriggling desperately to get out of his grasp.

“I’m the most brilliant person in the world!”

“Again!”

“No!” Harry said. This time, he managed to escape and fell off the other side of the bed. Sirius looked over the edge at the boy sprawled on the floor and made a swipe to grab him again, but Harry artfully flung himself out of the way.

Sirius groaned and turned onto his back again. “Dismal effort. But I suppose that’ll have to do for now. Maybe I’ll make you do lines tomorrow.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” Sirius glanced at the clock and shot up. “Oh, Merlin’s balls, is that the time?” It was absurdly late, and here he was, calling himself a parent and chasing Harry around the room when they both should’ve been asleep. “Harry, you’ve got to get to bed!”

“Why?”

“Because it’s late! You can’t be running around all night like a Niffler.”

“A what?”

Sirius leapt from the bed and in a swift movement, scooped Harry by the legs, hauled him over his shoulder, and then dumped him on the bed. Before Harry could scuttle away, Sirius drew the coverlet up to his chin and pretended to sing, poorly, a very quick lullaby as Harry chuckled.

“Are you asleep now?” said Sirius when he’d finished.

“Oh yeah,” said Harry, rolling his eyes.

“See?” said Sirius, tucking the covers under Harry’s legs. “I might be a bad parent, but I can force you to go to sleep, can’t I?”

The joke, however, fell flat. To his surprise, the smile slipped from Harry’s face, and for a moment, it looked like Harry wanted to say something. His brows crumpled, and his mouth opened but nothing emerged.

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t say that.”

“Say what?”

“That you’re a bad parent. You’re the—” But then Harry closed his mouth.

“It’s okay,” said Sirius, pressing a hand against Harry’s chest. He rubbed for a moment, nodding slowly, feeling a quickening pulse beneath his palm. “I understand.”

“No,” said Harry, firmly, as though frustrated with himself. “You’ve got to hear it—”

“It’s all right, Harry.”

Irritated, Harry threw up his hands and said, “No it’s not. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me! You shouldn’t—you shouldn’t make jokes like that. Don’t—don’t say things like you’re bad at the parent stuff.”

“Yeah, fine, all right.”

“Say it,” said Harry.

“Say what?”

“Say you’re good at parent stuff.”

“You can’t turn that back on me.”

“Yeah, I can.”

“Did you just roll your eyes at me, Potter?”

“Just say it, Sirius!”

“Fine!” said Sirius, sighing. “Fine—I’m—” it was actually bizarre to put into words, and he felt uneasy about it. He drew in a long, deep breath. “I’m good at parent stuff.” Feeling flushed in the face, he smiled humorlessly. “Satisfied?”

“No,” said Harry. “Maybe I’ll make you do lines tomorrow.”

“Oh, the horror.” Sirius pretended to faint backwards on the bed, still feeling the sour taste of Harry’s words in his mouth, wishing what Harry insisted about him was true. The bed shifted as Harry crawled out from his covers and flopped next to him.

“I think I’m done dating for a bit,” murmured Sirius, carding his fingers through Harry’s hair. “At least until you’re at school.”

“Why?”

“Too risky. Next time Tonks’ll burn down the house.”

Harry’s eyes closed. “Sirius…” he started quietly. “Can I give you some dating advice?”

Sirius grinned. “Yeah, what is it?”

“Pick someone uglier next time.”

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

THE BEAR S3 Predictions

Just a mental note I'm putting out here to be able to revisit it when the time comes to check its level of accuracy. I have the feeling that S3 is going to be the season of the reconciliations.

The relationship between Richie and Carmy is completely broken after the walk-in incident and Richie walks from The Bear. He happens to get some kinda job offer and accepts it just to prove Carmy wrong. They will later spend a good portion of S3 trying to repair their bond. By the end of S3 (hopefully sooner) there should be a reconciliation of some sort between them and Richie should go back to The Bear.

Nat gives birth to her new "cub" and this brings the family together. There is a reconciliation with Donna, which in some capacity benefits not only the siblings but the entire team, the restaurant as a whole. Not exactly sure how this will play out, but Donna will quit being this negative and toxic influence on everyone. Maybe she gets clean because she takes this baby as a new chance to start over and be a better grandmother than the mother she was. IDK...

Marcus' mother dies and this juxtaposition of new beginnings, births, endings, death, etc is going to be a theme throughout the whole season, that is why I actually think this funeral will be the opener.

There will be some kinda flashback episode, like 7 Fishes or a montage of some memory that has a huge impact on one or more characters. I have my $ put on the Sundays, Mr. Adamu and lil Syd would spend at Mr. Beef's. I strongly disagree with the weak argument that just because the Berzattos are catholic, their restaurant didn't open on Sundays. The gastronomic industry cares very little about those traditions especially if the place is struggling. I bet they were open every Sunday part-time, just for lunch, to get all the demand of those who went to church just because business-wise it makes total sense.

Carmen will apologize to Claire. Not sure what she's gonna make of that apology, whether she's gonna accept it or not, I hope she doesn't. I'm pretty sure there will be no reconciliation here. I don't necessarily oppose Carmy having a romantic partner and as much as I ship SydCarmy like nobody's business, I'm 100% sure they are not gonna happen any time soon. Maybe and this is a HUGE maybe, they could be the perfect cliffhanger for S4. But that would be a stretch. Not that Store & Calo couldn't pull it off, but still. So, basically, I am all for a new love interest being presented to Carmen just to see how he responds to it. After Claire he should go back to his old lone-wolf ways, I need to test that behavioral theory though, so I need a new female character to do it.

Last, but certainly not least, Miss Adamu needs her man and I'm not talking about Bear. I want to know more about Sydney's past and see her letting her hair down, putting her records on, and all that jazz. So, maybe an old flame can re-appear in her life and they can try to "reconcile". This reconciliation shouldn't work either because she's now devoted to making The Bear work and is basically a workaholic and both, Carmy & her get into this synch of type As on Speed and Red Bull, non-stop working machines, well-oiled now that they had already learned from their mistakes and The Bear succeeds but Sydney's relationship with her guy from the past fails, again. The guy feels like a 3rd wheel and lets her know that she's not in a relationship with him but with her job. Sydney understands the subtext, and this break-up is actually a wake-up call for her. She starts seeing what we all shippers are already seeing. It's not just about work for her. Yes, The Bears are too absorbing and demanding, both, the restaurant and the chef, but she doesn't mind. She loves it. Love is the operative word here. This realization should hit her hard by the end of the season.

The background of all the things I just mentioned above will be the BOH, fast-paced, chaotic, and working like a Swiss clock, just like Carmy likes it.

Am I missing something? Probably. Can't wait to find out.

Bonus tracks: I am pretty sure the wedding will either be Teff's or Fak's.

And lastly: When Sydcarmy happens, it will "officially" start with something small and inane like Syd accidentally finding out Carm has been drawing portraits of her all along... CHECK THIS OUT, I think Storer & Calo have something like this in mind or along these lines, and it should come along in S3, minus the sex part.

[a-short-alien]

WALLY!!!!! I feel like I know so little about him but I love him so much…. I didn’t draw him in his suit because in the actual context of comics and fanfics with Clown it’s very rare that he’s ever suited up so it felt unnecessary.. so instead he gets a crop top

Being best friends with both Dick Grayson and Robin for a number of years, Wally had at least heard a bit about clown but not much. Dick tried to keep them separate from each other, resulting in Wally becoming an avid Clown HATER. Dick did tell Clown a lot about Wally though, resulting in Clown becoming a huge Wally fan. The only time the two ever interacted outside of the rare overlap between hangouts (which Wally always thought were fights or clown causing trouble), was at Dick’s funeral. They both sort of acknowledged each other’s pain about the loss of their friend and from that point on, just kind of ignored each other. Cut to Dick as an adult, Wally does his regular checks (as referenced in Nightwing #91? I may be wrong but it’s either that issue or one close to it) and starts noticing odd things and even sees him with someone he can’t quite recognize at the speed he checks on him. One day he goes to visit unannounced and hears someone call out to Dick from his bedroom. He teases him about having girls over and goes up to say hello, finding Clown in his bed, wearing his clothes. Suddenly the odd behavior, suddenly crowded apartment and that incredibly panicked look on his face when he started heading upstairs made sense. It takes a while, a few weeks, but after some long explanations the two sort of “start over” and begin to properly get along.

After becoming friends, the two often bond over stealing Dick’s clothes and pulling little pranks on him that make him regret introducing the two

Wally always often made jokes about him and Dick being gay together for a long time and now that he’s in a real relationship with a man, it made him question if it was a little more real than he originally thought (lead in him to come out as bisexual not long after..)

Wally genuinely thought Clown and Dick were enemies when they were young and when first hearing about Clown in Blüdhaven, genuinely worried for Dick’s safety and began checking more often

Wally was a bit mad he had hid this friendship from him for so long, especially after seeing how well he and Clown ended up getting along but fully understands why he couldn’t have told him

Wally buys everyone his own merch for Christmas and Clown ends up wearing it all the time and even makes a public appearance with Dick, wearing a flash Tshirt

At first Wally was a bit jealous and annoyed that Clown knew Dick almost about at well as he did and even knew a few things he didn’t (like partner stuff) but after realizing Clown felt kind of the same, they began to bond and soon became Dick Grayson haters (lovers) together

I honestly don’t know much about Wally so if anyone has any suggestions for this AU it’d be greatly appreciated :)

[fotibrit]

"EDITH (Even Death Isn't Too Heavy)"

In a fit of boredom, I wrote the first chapter of this prompt. Please let me know if its worth continuing writing this one :)) (1700 words below the "continue reading" , youve been warned !!)

When Tony died, everything was supposed to stand still. The grass, somehow, would sense the shift and would freeze over to pay respect. The clouds shouldn’t show their face at all, unless to rain on the horrible, horrible world that now stopped turning in the wake of such a tragedy. 

Everything was supposed to stand still. The world should stop. 

But it doesn't. It seemed everything moved at double-speed, with Mister Stark gone. Of course, there was a world to clean up. Half the people on Earth had appeared in thin air, and entire cities needed to be turned into hospitals. Mass confusion reigned. Everyone turned to the avengers for answers, and nobody noticed the body of the man who had saved the world, whisked away in a black bag. 

That's all he was. A body in a bag. Everything, everything that Tony Stark ever was and ever would be, was within that bag. The bag that Peter would never see again. 

There were parties. Spider-Man was asked to a dinner at city hall, a “Celebration of Life Revived”. They asked, should he accept, that he give a speech. The city missed the vigilante, he was told. People were concerned, not having seen the web-slinger soaring through the skies after the battle. They wanted to see him, admire him, thank him for everyone he had saved. 

They even offered transportation.

There was no need. He couldn’t attend. He would be at a lake house, on the outskirts of New York. He had a funeral to attend. The “Life Revived” would have to make do without him. 

Peter tried to avoid anything to do with Tony Stark for the months after his death. He was tired, far too tired to deal with the fallout of his mentor's death. There was paperwork to be sorted, meetings with SHIELD, interviews requested, and there was the small issue of Tony’s workshops. Nobody wanted to step foot in any of them, let alone clean them up. This wouldn’t be an issue. They could stay, collect dust, become an ancient artefact. Peter was willing to turn a blind eye, forget that the rooms ever existed, distract his mind as every crumbled up bag of chips on the lab floor became a relic of a better world in which Tony Stark lived.

It doesn't matter. See if Peter cares. It's not like anyone would use Tony’s lab again. Tony’s dead. 

Dead, and never coming back. His voice fades from Peter’s memory as Peter stands, frozen, in front of the lab door. 

Unfortunately, Peter may not care if Tony’s workshop turns to dust, but SHIELD certainly does, and nobody has the energy to fight that battle with them at the moment. Valuable work needed to be preserved, some things needed to be guarded under lock and key, a few things would go to a museum, per Tony’s will.

So, Pepper asked Peter to clean it out. “Just glance over everything. See if anything stands out. God knows I don’t understand his little language, but if he wrote ‘weapon’ in big red letters on anything, burn it before SHIELD sees it, yeah? Or translate it to ‘high tech prosthesis’. He would have loved that.” 

Peter was the only one for the job. There had been a few days in which everyone panicked, thinking nobody would be able to preserve Tony’s work. He had insisted on using his personal language in his notes, a language Peter privately dubbed “Teaspool” after failing to find a way to pronounce “TSPL” (or, Tony Stark’s Private Language”). Even some of Tony’s codes used symbols known only to Tony’s brain and computer. 

And Peters. Tony had taught Peter Teaspool. This fact had been private for years, with Tony preferring to keep the depths to which he trusted the boy private, and the boy following his mentor’s lead and keeping quiet. When it was first discovered that much of Tony’s work was unreadable to an English speaker, Peter had debated revealing his ability to understand the language. He ultimately decided that he wouldn’t reveal himself, he would maintain his last secret with his late mentor, but Morgan had other ideas. 

She showed up at his bedside one day. He was always in bed. Peter Parker, drowning in grief and blankets, was very easy to find. 

“Mommy is crying because she can’t read Daddy’s books. Can you read them to her?”

Peter agreed to step foot in the lab, but not much else. It’s true that he learned to read Teaspool over the years, but that doesn't mean he’s willing to spend months translating everything for SHIELD. 

He’s not sure he’s even willing to spend minutes. 

The door handle is cold, far colder than it ever was when Stark was alive, or at least it seemed as much to Peter. That might, in retrospect, have something to do with the fact that Peter had laid in bed, warm and comfortable and utterly numb to the world, for the last few weeks. Everything felt colder. 

He wouldn’t wait to go back to bed. 

The room was cold too, and creepily silent. Completely devoid of the whirring, the music, the laughter and called out nicknames that typically greeted Peter when he walked through this door. 

That nickname would never come again. He had already had his last. It wasn’t enough. 

“FRIDAY?” Peter spoke into the silence, more for his own comfort than a pressing need for the AI. He needed to know someone else, even a robot, was somewhere closeby. His voice cracked from misuse. It wasn’t that Mister Stark’s death had caused him to go mute. It was more like that very things were worth speaking for, in a world devoid of his father figure. 

Speaking only made his life better. Peter didn’t need his life to be better. He needed his life to not be his own. 

“Hello, Peter.” The AI responded. Even she sounded cold. Everything was cold, now. 

“Can you… play music? Anything? Please?” The room was haunted. Peter was sure of it. He had known it back when he frequented this lab for the express purpose of bothering Mister Stark while he worked. The lab was haunted by the spirits of projects that Mister Stark forgot about, Peter used to say. The half-built gadgets lined the walls, staring at the pair of humans working on another gadget, which would (in turn) be dejected as well. “This lab is a haunted graveyard. I’m surprised the electricity hasn’t revolted against you!”

Mister Stark had laughed, back then. If only Peter had known how right he would be. It wasn’t electricity, per se, that killed Stark, but Doctor Strange said it was the magical equivalent. It looked like sparks had coursed through the mechanics veins as he lied, waiting for death. 

The machines won in the end. 

Music started playing. Classical. Something happy. Far too happy, for this room. Still, it was better than nothing. 

Peter’s bare feet wandered over to the main table of the lab. He typically wore lab-appropriate footwear in this room, but then again, it’s not a lab anymore. It's a graveyard. 

The table was piled with papers, no clear signs of an organisational system presenting themselves. Blueprints for designs that could change the world were filed with Peter’s own chemistry homework, all filed right on top of the desk in a haphazard pile. 

This should be fun. 

It felt wrong, somehow, to sit in the chair that was right next to the desk. Mister Stark was probably the last one to sit on it. Who was Peter to take that away from the universe? He dragged over another chair and began rooting through the pages. 

—--------

Peter almost didn’t check the desk drawers. Tony never used them for anything more than snacks, and he didn’t know if he could bear finding a half- finished snack in there, knowing the inventor had opened it and would never finish the bag. Such a small thing, but the pressure in Peter’s chest had been building ever since he first started translating Tony’s handwriting, and he couldn’t take anything more. 

But he checked anyway. Maybe part of him wanted to break. And break he certainly did. 

A notebook. Bound in leather, stamped in the bottom left corner with Tony’s initials, a well used notebook had been pushed all the way to the back of the otherwise empty drawer. It was filled with a mix of english and symbols, and before Peter could start to translate, the english section caught his eye. 

It was a diary. Or at least, a personal journal. The small english section described Tony’s difficulty with keeping “Mark Two” a secret from “Obie”, and was dated 2009. 

As Peter flipped through the almost-full journal, the handwriting became more and more illegible, and more of the man's personal language took over the pages, until Peter hit the back cover. 

So it started in 2009. Peter flipped to the last page, intending to find out exactly when Tony had given up on the journal, only to see his own name staring back at him from the last entry. 

Or at least, it might as well be his name at this point. 

“TO ROO” it said, in big bold english letters on the top of the page. 

The following paragraph was written in the messiest handwriting yet, and in Teaspool. As such, it took over twenty minutes to decipher, and another twenty for Peter to read through the tears and disbelief.

Because what it was saying…

It couldn’t be.

“TO ROO

The wizard says there's only one option, so I’m in a corner here. I’m working on it, kid, but it’s looking like you will have to wait a while to see me after we get you back. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Just stay strong. I’ll be back soon. I can’t wait to see you again, kiddo. Trust me. I'll have to push through worlds to see you again, but even death isn’t too heavy. 

P.S. Don't show the others. If they knew, I would be stuck. Keep it quiet. Wait for me.”

Three hours after Peter entered the lab, Morgan came looking for her brother at the request of her mom. Peter, notebook clutched in hand, murmured the phrase “even death isn’t too heavy” as he was led back to his bed.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

HALLOOOO wjat are some heartbreaking/or just upsetting headcanons you have on john wick characters? (the amount depends, it could be one or more!!)

Take a seat. This gets DARK.

TW: murder, suicidal ideation, animal death, childhood trauma, BDSM, dead dove do not eat

John

John was suicidal after Helen's death (this is nearly canon).

John has complex-PTSD and a trauma-bonded sort of relationship to The Director due to the way he was raised. He can't let go of his familial feelings towards her, despite the fact that she brought him into the assassin world and forced him to do terrible things. But he hates her for it at the same time.

John was forced to kill animals as practice before he began killing people. This started quite young.

John can't bring himself to do anything that even seems like hurting his partner in the bedroom, because it reminds him too much of the very real assassinations he's carried out (I know this is contradictory to the yandare/dominant John that we usually see but this is soft-John).

Helen

Helen is an orphan. This would give her and John something to initially bond over.

Helen is also no-contact with her adoptive family because she grew up in some form of severe dysfunction. Notice that no one is talking to John at her funeral, and none of her family members are ever mentioned. John would definitely try to support her relatives after her death if she were close to them, and vice versa, but we never see anything like that. So they can't have been close, in my opinion.

The thing that caused the rift between Helen and her family was really severe, perhaps even a homicide. This would give Helen a reason to want to understand and accept John despite the fact that he is an actual murderer. She has spent a long time trying to understand why people kill, how they get involved in organized crime, etc. Just trying to understand why.

Helen has a phobia of needles and IVs. Her illness was very difficult for her because she needed transfusions, and John donated blood to her because she felt a bit better about the process if the blood was coming from him. They have matching blood types.

Gianna/Cassian

Cassian was in love with Gianna, and she felt the same way, but she hadn't yet accepted her feelings for him. Shortly before her assassination, he asked her to run away with him, but she was too attached to her position in the High Table.

The Marquis Vincent Bisset de Gramont

All of your headcanons are now my headcanons - look what you did to me evren.

Also s/he has panic attacks.

[sadquickchristmassnowman]

Hi! I follow 'the good place' tag and saw your cry for distraction. Seeing as I don't know your blog at all, may I ask: Do you have any uncommon headcanons about tgp that you'd like to share? Additionally/Alternatively, do you have a favourite member of team cockroach? Why (are they your favourite/do you not have any favourites)? Good luck on your grades!

hey! thanks for the ask dude, even though we’ve never interacted before. I don’t talk about tgp a ton on here but it is my #1 favorite sitcom. so thanks for this opportunity to ramble a little bit 💯

this is only sort of a headcannon? it’s more of a connection I made that might not have necessarily been intentional. in the scene where jason and tahani break off their casual relationship (I think it’s from s2ep10 “best self” ?) jason starts telling a super unhinged story about robbing a pet store with his mom, then finishes it off with “it was all a dream.” but then, in s4ep8 “the funeral to end all funerals” we find out that jason’s mom actually died of cancer when he was really young. as we know, in jason’s family, commiting crimes and going through with half-baked get-rich-quick schemes was an important part of his family dynamic, and that’s basically the entire basis of his relationship with his dad.

basically, now I just can’t stop thinking about a teenage jason, who lost his mom a few years back, having a dream about doing a scheme with his mom— actually being able to bond with someone who was taken from him too soon.

I have no idea if this was intentional, but it’s canon to me lmao. he just misses his mom :(

also, it’s really cool to go through all of jason’s unhinged anecdotes from his life on Earth. everything he says connects, and just. his whole backstory is So well thought out, even when we just get tiny snippets of memories and stories throughout the series. I guess you could say that for all four of the humans, but the continuity in jason’s stories stands out most to me. this show is on another level and I love it so much

and, obviously I love all the members of team cockroach. it’s so so difficult to try to pick a favorite. they all have amazing character development throughout the show (tgp has some of my favorite character work I have ever seen), they’re all funny, and all of the actors really put their entire souls into their roles. honestly, michael is probably my favorite (ted danson is phenomenal, and all his line deliveries and mannerisms are just really entertaining to me.) but, I really do love all of them and picking a favorite is so difficult. I could write an essay on why I love each of them lmao. leaving a picture of them here as a sign off :)